Page 135 of Hate to Love You

But a gala? I fucking hate galas.

And I hate rich people. Especially fake rich people.

I thought I’d escaped them forever after I escaped my old life. I was sure I was done mingling with old crusty aristocrats and dusty tycoons, shaking hands, smiling, pretending to care about whatever bullshit they’re going on about.

But apparently, I thought wrong.

Wishful thinking, I guess.

So here I am.

Instead of enjoying my lunch hour, which for the most part is a working lunch, I’m shopping.

I like shopping as much as the next girl, but not for a high-class function that I have no interest in attending.

While these events were always for charity, there was always an alternative motive lurking behind the scenes.

The men do business, while the women sit there, sipping their expensive champagne judging everyone around them, taking bets on how many zeros their competition has in their bank account.

Parasites.

“Won’t be long, Trevor,” I call over my shoulder as I walk into the quaintest little boutique I’ve ever seen. After spending all morning looking for one, I gave up and asked Trevor if he knew of anywhere that could be of any help to me.

Without hesitation his eyes lit up and he told me about a coworker of his that talked about this nice little shop on the outskirts of the city. Apparently, the waitresses at Albertos said that the owner of the boutique was rumored to be a ‘witch,’ because with one singular look, she knew exactly what dress would work best on you.

Something that I was keen to experience myself.

Shopping is an art, one that you have to be in the mood for.

Which I am not.

Pulling the door open, I’m immediately hit with the sweet smell of fresh Jasmine. And my soul relaxes a bit.

Surveying the collection of dresses that line the walls that seem to go on forever, my eyes catch on a flash of red, conveniently covered by a drape.

“Hello!” A cheery voice calls out to me, her head popping up from behind the counter.

“Hi! I called ahead,” I say back, giving her a small wave.

“Oh yes, Miss Wayne, right?” She nods, darting out to greet me.

“I just go by Abby,” I say with a polite smile.

“You said you needed something formal, right?” She continues, pulling dresses from the racks.

“Yeah, it’s for a charity event, I was told it needed to be formal and classy. But—”

“I know the perfect dress already,” she interrupts, before she basically evaporates in front of me.

Dropping down onto the dusty pink loveseat, I throw my bag down next to me, before shaking my head.

She flies back into the room, garment bags thrown over her arm as she starts hooking them onto the rail. Throwing a quick smile over her shoulder, she unzips the first bag, revealing a baby blue silk piece.

My nose scrunches at the color.

She takes in my expression, before frowning and unzipping the next one, a ruched velvet yellow.

Now, the style of the dress would highlight my curves, as well as showing off my shoulders, however with that color, and that fabric, it’s a hard no.