Chapter 6: Rachel

Rory couldn’t shake the look of hurt on Micah’s face as the elevator moved faster than she expected, sliding effortlessly down the eighty plus floors. She didn’t understand why his sad puppy dog expression bothered her so much. He was rude, callous, and arrogant. He didn’t deserve her apology.

She grabbed her phone out of her purse and realized it was dead. Still gripping her glasses, she blinked, glancing around the elevator. Nothing was out of focus. Her vision without them was suddenly crystal clear. It made no sense–Rory was practically blind without them, and had been most of her life. She lifted the glasses to her eyes and stared through the lenses at an incredibly blurry world. How was it possible that she no longer needed her glasses?

The elevator slowed and two blurry forms walked in. Lowering the glasses, she stored them in her purse and watched as two women stepped off the forty-second floor and got on the elevator. They were dressed almost identically, in heels four inches high, and dresses that hugged their forms. Like everything about her short experience in this building, they smelled like money.

She suddenly wished she’d taken Micah up on the offer to use the back elevator. She was barefoot, her hair dreaded in knots, wearing a man’s shirt over her slacks, and holding her broken heels. She couldn’t have more closely resembled the stereotype of a one-night stand. Fortunately, the women didn’t notice her, their faces buried in an IPhone the blonde on the left was holding.

A video was playing loudly from her phone, and it was impossible not to hear the slurred female voice coming from it.

“--the minute you're promoted to CEO, you hop right on it, f*ck history! Just so your dad can get reelected. Nepotism. Is a word. And I can spell it if you want me to.”

Rory’s breath caught in her throat as she recognized her very loud, drunken voice. She stood on her tiptoes, struggling to peer over the blonde’s shoulder.

“Oh my God,” the brunette on the right laughed. “She’s wasted.”

The girl on the left sighed, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder and almost hitting Rory. “Why is he so hot?”

Rory ducked down, peering beneath the girl’s elbows, the only angle she could see the phone. The video was taken inside Mill’s Tavern and showed Micah and Rory at the bar from the night before. Her intoxication was immediately evident, her body swaying, her eyes heavy-lidded and glassy.

In the video, Micah’s smile faded. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

Rory watched herself slowly process Micah’s words, and then her green eyes bulged. Her cheeks reddened in the way they did when she was upset. Rory suddenly knew exactly what was going to happen, and as much as she wanted to look away, she couldn’t.

“You’re right,” drunk Rory slurred. “Enough of you!” Rory’s alter-ego tossed the remainder of her drink directly into Micah’s face, soaking him with vodka.

The two girls in the elevator gasped, and Rory pressed a hand against her forehead, mortified. She had completely forgotten she’d done that.

“Good day, sir!” her drunk self slurred.

The brunette burst out laughing.

“He deserves so much better,” the blonde exclaimed.

In the video, multiple bar patrons audibly gasped, and in the background the bartender called for security and rushed over to hand Micah a napkin. Rory watched herself stumble away in her heels and leave through the door labeled exit.

“What an idiot,” the blonde said.

Rory slumped backwards against the elevator, wishing she could fade into oblivion.

“He took that like a champ,” the brunette said. “How long do you think they’ve been dating?”

“Dating?” the blonde asked. “Micah Kyle doesn’t date.”

The brunette snorted. “You’re just saying that because the one time you f*cked him, he forgot your name.”

“B*tch, I told you never to repeat that.”

“I’m just saying,” the brunette continued, “Micah Kyle may not date, but Rachel Mae doesn’t just f*ck. That girl has almost locked down every guy she’s dated.”

“Almost being the keyword,” the blonde said. “And she just broke off her engagement with Jeff Stevens. Micah’s a rebound.”

“I don’t know,” the brunette said. “If anyone is going to lock Micah Kyle down, it’s Rachel Mae.”

Rory couldn’t believe her ears.

The blonde crossed her arms. “I give it a week.”

“No way in hell,” the brunette said. “That’s not the fight of a rebound. Guarantee you they’ll come out as a couple this week. Especially with the whole world watching. That video has like five million views.”

Rory’s neck swiveled around so fast it cracked. “Oh–f*ck!”

The two girls jumped, completely unaware that there was another person in the elevator with them. Immediately, they both screamed and a stream of praises and apologies spilled out in unison. Rory could only decipher half of what they were saying.

“So sorry–”

“Ms. Mae–”

“Didn’t mean it–”

“Autograph–”

The elevator hit the first floor just as the blonde lifted her phone and snapped a photo of her. Rory shoved past her out into a bright lobby and immediately froze. The lobby was bustling with Monday morning life–and not the Monday life Rory was accustomed to. Staff and residents swarmed the vast space, their gazes lingering as they glanced Rory’s way.

She had expected judgment, the kind of glares she got when she walked into a store on fifth avenue she clearly couldn’t afford. To her utter shock, she saw none of that. Their eyes lit up with recognition, praise. With Jealousy.

Five million people had watched a video of action star Rachel Mae fighting with the wealthiest bachelor in New York City–and here she was in his building. Except Rory was not her sister.

Adjusting her purse and heels beneath her arm, she walked quickly to the front doors, the tile of the lobby freezing beneath her bare feet. The doorman opened the front door and tipped his hat. “Ms. Mae.”

Rory gulped and shoved herself through the doors. A blast of warm New York summer air engulfed her, and she finally felt like she could breathe again. Across the street, the green trees of Central Park waved in a breeze.

“There she is!”

“Rachel!”

“Ms. Mae!”

To her right, a horde of paparazzi lunged toward her. Pedestrians walking by stopped to gawk at her. She spun in a circle, petrified as flash bulbs blinded her.

“That’s enough!”

A short woman with a black bob and a fierce voice stepped between Rory and the photographers. “Ms. Mae, we have your car waiting for you,” she said, pointing toward a large black SUV at the curb.

Rory glanced up at her. “I’m not–”

The woman leaned down, her whisper so quiet only Rory could hear. “I know, Rory. Let me get you home.”

Relieved for a way out of this situation, and happy to finally hear someone call her by her real name, Rory nodded and followed the woman toward the car, the paparazzi crowding behind them. The woman opened the back door and ushered Rory inside a backseat as dark as a cave, the windows heavily tinted.

As the car started, she was shocked to see some of the photographers chasing after the vehicle. She sunk into the leather, breathing in the cold air.

Something buzzed behind her and Rory spun around in her seat, startled. A retractable privacy shield folded down, revealing a hidden backseat and a woman in a beige coat and oversized sunglasses, her long, reddish brown hair pulled back.

She took off her sunglasses and glared at Rory with piercing, green eyes identical in shade to Rory’s, except her gaze was livid.

“Enjoying being me?” Rachel asked.