Chapter 4 — Glitter and Grit at the Gala

Emma

The invitation had arrived on thick cardstock, the kind that made you feel poor just touching it. Tess practically shoved it under my nose as soon as she clattered into my apartment, her electric-blue stilettos clicking against my hardwood floors like a countdown to doom.

“You’re going,” she declared, her tone brooking no argument, which was unfortunate because I had every intention of arguing.