Page 54 of Brutal
When he gets closer, I say, “Hi, babe. Is some of that drink for me?”
Drake seems to pick up on the hint, because he stops beside me and leans down to drop a kiss on the top of my head. “Sure,” he says, though he seems surprised at the question. He offers the glass to me. “Drink up, Mimi.”
He glances at the others, frowning as he takes in their expressions.
“Something the matter?” he asks, voice sharp.
I take a sip, hiding my disgust at the taste. Then I glance at Drake and say, “The Felicia was telling me all about her business.”
Drake gives me a puzzled look. “‘The Felicia’? Who’s that?”
Felicia turns red in the face. “Felicia Fenway,” she says haughtily, “You invited me.”
“Actually, my assistant invited you,” Drake corrects her. His eyes flick over her, and while there’s some appreciation in his gaze, he sits on the arm of the chair and wraps an arm around my shoulders.
I’m not sure how I feel about that.
Felicia’s face gets even redder, and she gets up. “I’m going to grab a drink. I’ll see you around, Drake.” The other two stay seated until Felicia gives them a pointed look. The friend immediately falls in line, and the guy is clearly debating his chances of getting laid if he stays seated. Finally, he does get up and follows Felicia out of sight.
“Did you really not know who she was?” I ask, taking another sip of the strange cocktail.
“She’s some two-bit influencer. They’re a dime a dozen,” Drake says dismissively. “She’ll probably put out some scathing video about how much of a dick I am in person just for defending my date.” He looks down at the drink in my hand. “You should drink more of that. The party’s not nearly over yet.”
I shake my head. “She’s not going to say anything negative about you. That would damage her brand, and she knows you’ve got more ardent fans than she does.” At his surprised expression, I shrug. “What?”
“I didn’t think you were the social media type,” Drake says.
“I’m not. But just because I don’t like it, doesn’t mean I don’t understand the psychology of it. If she’s selling herself as someone who is rich and famous, she can’t tell her followers she was beneath your notice.”
Drake considers me for a moment, then nods. “That makes sense.”
I want to say more, but some other people crowd closer.
“Hey, Drake!” one of them says. “Great party! You got some fucking hot bitches here.” He waggles his eyebrows. “We doing an afterparty like usual?”
Drake slides his hand down from my shoulder down to my breast, squeezing lightly. “Of course we are. Don’t tell anyone else, though, we’re keeping it small—well, not everything will be small.”
I suppress a disgusted sound. As if I needed more proof that Drake was a sleazy douchebag.
“Oh, you,” I say, still emotionless. “You sure you don’t want to try out some other women? There are plenty of them here who would happily ride your dick.”
“Like Tiffany Fenway?” Drake asks with a smirk, ignoring my deadpan sass.
“You mean Felicia?” the other man asks with a double take. “Man, I’d love to get my hands on that ass.”
“You’re welcome to it,” Drake says casually, shrugging. “You’ve got the money to buy her a nice trip to Paris and back. She’d be eating out of the palm of your hand.”
“Paris,” he scoffs. “I want to get laid, not be somebody’s wallet.”
“I think I’ll go walk around,” I say, getting up. I pass the cocktail back to Drake. “You two boys have fun discussing all the women you’d like to fuck.”
As I walk off, I hear the other man saying, “Man, lucky. I’d love to have a girl who doesn’t get jealous.”
“Who said I was actually going to fuck around on her?” Drake asks, and I almost pause to listen to more of the conversation. I don’t think I want to hear it, though, so I continue heading deeper into the room.
I don’t really look out of place, but I feel like I am. My sister would’ve thrived in this environment…
I realize Drake never told me what’s going on with her. Maybe it’s for the best. I don’t know what I would do with that information.