A Higher Standard by E.F. Dodd

Author:E.F. Dodd [Dodd, E.F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9798986288055
Publisher: Sugar Beaver Books
Published: 2023-05-15T16:00:00+00:00

chapter eighteen

EVEREST

Gideon West at the Black and White Ball escorting Ms. Amanda Alcott. The caption of the picture blared out at me from the screen of my computer as though it were in 3-D. Of course, the picture itself was worse. Ms. Amanda Alcott was at least seven feet tall, three-quarters of which was leg, and the rest was all boobs and perfect teeth. Okay, maybe there was a tiny portion left over for her immaculately styled blonde hair, but there was zero room for flaws. I knew that because I’d spent the last half hour zooming in and out of the photo looking for them. Yes, it was petty. Did I care? No, not at all.

My desk chair creaked loudly as I sank back into it, the sound almost as despondent as I now felt. Hand on the mouse, I clicked back to the main page of photos, torturing myself with more images of a tuxedo-clad Gideon and Ms. Amanda Alcott. To be fair, there were a slew of other tall, willowy blondes featured in the photos. Each one glamorous and expertly made up with a smile that would give the tooth fairy a lady boner. It was glaringly apparent that Gideon had zero problems finding beautiful women to squire around town to the various social events he attended. Of which there were legion. At least, based on my saved internet search. The one I’d had bookmarked since the day I met him. Gideon West was not, it appeared, a man interested in spending an evening on the couch with takeout pizza and a streaming service. He was a man who went to balls, for God’s sake. Honest to God balls, like a secret prince in some holiday rom-com.

I glanced down at my dusty jeans and work boots. There was a noticeable coffee stain on my tank top and … when had that hole gotten there? I had never been red carpet ready at any point in my life. I lived in functional clothes—jeans, cotton shirts, and work boots. The few suits I owned came out only on special occasions, and none of them had plunging necklines or mid-thigh slits. My heels weren’t that high and came only in black and nude. I wasn’t like the exotic hothouse flowers who decorated Gideon’s arm in the photos on my screen. I was, at best, a sturdy geranium, or on a really good day, a jaunty little petunia. How could I compete with the women he was used to? More importantly, did I really want to engage in that type of competition for something that had a limited shelf life? It would be a mistake to start something with him. Wouldn’t it? Assuming, that is, if he even wanted to. The man was a consummate flirt, so maybe I’d read a little too much into things.

“You know, maybe I was wrong. Maybe Mrs. Hazelton would prefer me in the Armani,” Gideon said from over my shoulder.

“Gah!” I hastily jabbed at the mouse, my movements ineffective because my brain had totally forgotten how to minimize a window.

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