Chapter 221
Gaston checked his watch again. “I’m not going in with you. I have a meeting with the Headmaster first.”
“On a Friday night?” Jocelyn raised an eyebrow. “Is that code for a secret society meeting?”
“Donors get special treatment,” he said smoothly. “I’ll see you inside.”
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. His lips were warm, lingering a second longer than necessary.
“Knock them dead, Wolfe.”
He turned and left, his stride long and purposeful.
Jocelyn watched him go. A quiet prick of disappointment settled in her chest. She had wanted him to walk in with her. She had wanted his hand on her back when she faced the lions.
He’s in a hurry, she thought, frowning.
Her phone buzzed on the vanity. A text from Bella.
𝗧𝗋𝗲𝗻𝖽𝗂𝘯𝗀 𝗻𝘰𝘃еlѕ о𝗻 gа𝗹n𝗼v𝘦l𝘴.со𝘮
I’m outside in the Uber. Let’s go crash this pity party.
Jocelyn grabbed her gold clutch and took a slow breath, drawing in the scent of her own perfume — vanilla and ambition.
I don’t need a knight, she told her reflection. I’m the queen.
She walked out to the elevator. Through the glass walls of the lobby below, she spotted Gaston’s Aston Martin peeling away from the curb and merging aggressively into traffic.
He was definitely in a hurry.
The Uber pulled up to the side entrance of the Plaza Hotel. The air was thick with humidity and the smell of exhaust.
Bella checked her makeup in the rearview mirror, her lips painted a violent shade of red.
“Ready to make them cry?” Bella asked, snapping her compact shut.
“Ready,” Jocelyn lied. Her heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
They stepped out onto the sidewalk. As Jocelyn smoothed her dress, a sleek black sedan pulled up near the VIP entrance, about fifty feet away. The back door opened.
Gaston stepped out.
Jocelyn started to wave, but her hand froze mid-air. He was standing under a streetlamp, the yellow light illuminating him clearly. He wasn’t looking in her direction. He was staring at his phone, typing rapidly. Then he raised his hand to run it through his hair.
On the white cuff of his dress shirt, there was a smudge. Red. Dusty. Like crushed brick.
Jocelyn frowned. Paint? Did he brush against a wall?
Before she could call out, Gaston buttoned his suit jacket — effectively hiding the stain — and disappeared through a private doorway.
“Who are you staring at?” Bella asked, coming up beside her.
“Nothing,” Jocelyn said, shaking her head. “Just… thought I saw someone.”
They walked into the lobby. A sign on an easel pointed toward the Grand Ballroom: St. Jude’s Class of 2014 Reunion.
The check-in table was staffed by two women Jocelyn vaguely recognized. Name tags were laid out in neat rows. Jocelyn Wolfe was printed on a plain white sticker.
Beside the stack of unclaimed tags sat a basket of premium badges with gold borders. One read: Aspen Schneider — Reunion Committee Chair.
.