Page 68 of The Girlfriend Clause
I sighed. “God help me, yes.”
A camera flash went off to our left, and Dex flinched like he’d been shot.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Was that for me?”
“I think that was for her.”
The crowd was shifting, speculation buzzing around us. I raised my chin to see what was happening, just in time to see Ben Roth strolling through the archway at the far end of the room like a bloody debutante.
“My God,” Dex murmured. “He’s brought a Bond girl.”
Ben spotted us and raised his glass like the living incarnation of the Leonardo DiCaprioGreat Gatsbymeme. A willowy blonde in a black dress dripped off his arm. Dex waved back with the enthusiasm of a man spotting a good bottle of tequila.
“Fuck,” I said under my breath. “Do you think he could tone down thecheers, peasantsenergy?”
Ben reached us in seconds, gleaming like someone had buffed him for display. He clinked glasses with Dex, then turned to me with a mock-serious expression.
“You look tense, bro. Too many rich people, not enough exits?” he asked. “Or do you think the art should still be sealed mint in its original packaging?”
If he got any more pleased with himself, Sotheby’s would auction the smirk.
“Christ.” I exhaled. “One pressed seam and you’re doing stand-up.”
He laughed, slinging an arm briefly around my shoulders. “One of us had to look like we belonged.”
“She’s… what, then?” Dex nodded at the woman standing next to a sculpture of a decapitated badger, staring into the middle distance.
Ben followed his gaze, as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Oh, that’s Ava. She’s”—he paused, searching—“the face of something. European. We met in Monaco. Or maybe Ibiza. I forget.”
“Does she speak?” I asked.
“She doesn’t have to,” Dex said wistfully. “How do you do it, Ben?”
“C’mon. She’s a red-blooded female.” Ben gestured to himself. “Honestly, sometimes I wish I could turn it off. You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re really leaning into that self-aware Zoolander vibe tonight,” I said.
Ben grinned and handed me a fresh drink. “You planning on buying anything? Brighten up that concrete bunker you sleep in?”
“If you mean my Mayfair penthouse, no. I’ll add a splash of color the day you stop microblading your eyebrows”—I waved my hand toward Ben’s forehead dismissively—“if that’s what this is called.”
“Brutal repartee, boys,” said Dex. “I, on the other hand, have every intention of going home with something spectacular and provocative.”
“Ava’s taken, I’m afraid.” Ben looked at Dex properly for the first time. “Holy fuck, Dennis. Are you sleeping on trains now?”
Dex rubbed his chin warily.
“Seriously, dude—you look like you’ve been rimming a goat.”
“Hey, lay off old neckbeard here. At least he’s growing a man bun to go with it,” I said.
Dex ignored us and scratched his chin purposefully with his middle finger, looking conspicuously around the room.
“So.” Ben turned to me. “Where are you at with Novexia?”
“Getting somewhere. Assuming Hugo doesn’t ghost me.”
“He won’t. He likes you.”
