Free The Anatomy of Jane by Amelia Lefay

even blink, just tossed it to her.
    Leaning into me, Irene whispered, “Smile. The vultures are all here.”
    I didn’t know what she meant until I stepped around the corner into the large living room. Most of the furniture had been moved for the party, but that didn’t at all take away from the décor. The paintings that hung on the walls had to have been lifted straight from museums; hell, the place was like a museum. I was actually interested in seeing more of it, but all the guests’ eyes were focused on her…us…the both of us. They glared at her as if she was actually a murderer, and I felt her take a step back. She was scared and she couldn’t move.
    “Irene,” I whispered.
    “This was a bad idea. I’m sorry.” I grabbed her arm before she could run. Speaking in French, I said to her, “I have no idea what you did, but I spent hours today cleaning your house. I let you convince me to come to a party I wanted no part of, in a dress I am terrified of ruining. You are going to walk in there like the motherfucking queen of England, or so help me, I’m going lose my shit.”
    She stared at me wide-eyed before laughing and taking a step forward. “Your French is a little rough around the edges, but good.”
    Of course that was all she’d gotten from my speech. Shaking my head, I walked after her. When I did, two guys across the room smiled at me. I smirked, making direct eye contact with them before looking away and taking one of the glasses of champagne. I was supposed to make her look good, right?
    “You’re a natural,” she said to me
    I learned from strippers, so of course I am a natural. For the men at least, I could fake it because whether they were in a suit or jeans, they functioned the same.
    “Irene! Long time, no see.” A blond man was the first to come over to us and his brown eyes dropped over to me. “Who’s your friend?”
    “How do you know I’m her friend? We could be lovers,” I said in French, knowing he couldn’t understand. Irene snorted and tried not to laugh.
    He looked at us, confused. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
    “Jane,” I answered him, offering him a hand.
    “Archibald Saint James,” he said kissing the back of it. “But my friends call me Archie.”
    “That’s quite nice of your friends, Mr. Saint James,” I said, and the corners of his lips turned up.
    “I think so too, maybe you—”
    “That’s a very long handshake, Archibald. ” We both turned to find Maxwell Emerson dressed in a fitted black suit and bow tie with his hand in his pocket. His blue eyes glared at Archibald.
    Elspeth Yates…Elspeth fucking Yates…his mother! Shit!
    He said nothing more, but walked up beside me and placed his hand on my waist. My eyes widened. I wanted to push him away, but I didn’t want to draw any more attention. I was trapped.
    Whoever said no good deed goes unpunished was talking to me.
     

     
    Contrary to popular belief, I did not hate people. Did some people annoy me? Yes. Did I often lose my temper? Who didn’t? However, I hated Archibald Saint James so vehemently that if he were drowning in front of me, I’d go inside and make a sandwich.
    His snake eyes dropped to my hand on her waist, and I tried to ignore the heat coming off her skin.
    “Maxwell I didn’t know you were acquainted with such a beautiful woman ,” he pressed, obviously feeding into the circulating rumor that I had to be gay. To gossipmongers, this explained why I never brought women to any of my parents’ ridiculous parties thrown with the simple purpose of showing off their wealth.
    Turning to Jane, I could tell she was yelling at me with her eyes. Reaching up, I cupped her waist harder and blatantly kissed her. She stared and I gave her ass a squeeze to intimate to her to play along. Closing her eyes, she kissed me back, but before it went any further than that, we broke apart. Her lips were puffy and her face flushed.
    “Now you know, Archibald,” I said, taking Jane’s hand