Pretty Revenge by Emily Liebert

Author:Emily Liebert
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery Books

21  KERRIE

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about whiskey tastings—because, as you might imagine, this is my first—it’s that it’s impossible not to end up marginally drunk. Of course, it wasn’t my intention to get drunk. My intention was to remain focused and clearheaded. In part because I’m here in a professional capacity. Fortunately, William is three sheets further to the wind than I am, and he seems to find the whole thing entirely amusing, which is a relief because—for the last four days—I’ve been investing all my energy in stepping up my sabotage game and I’m ready to relax for a change.

Let’s just say that the envelope with the rent check that the building manager picked up did not actually have the rent check in it. Somehow that made its way into the trash can on the corner of Eighty-Seventh Street. Go figure.

I also started tweaking details of the other weddings we’re planning. For example, both Adam Levine and Lady Gaga, whom Alexa Griffin had her heart set on performing two songs apiece—no expense spared—passed on the opportunity. Their managers emailed Jordana, but somehow the messages got deleted. When Alexa checked in this afternoon, I said, “We’re still working on it! Fingers crossed!” Once Jordana realizes, there will never be enough time to get another artist of equal caliber. Or likely even close. She’ll be calling dive bars in the village in search of a halfway decent cover band. Madame Levine anyone?

Then there’s Lucy Noble and Donald Cooper. Donald’s mom, Mindy, phoned on Wednesday to tell me she’s planning a surprise for their reception. I said, “Fabulous!” Who doesn’t love surprises? Lucy. Especially when it comes to her mother-in-law-to-be, who’s a sloppy drunk known for her inappropriate public displays. I’m only privy to this information because I read an email to Jordana from Lucy’s fiancé, Donald, saying exactly that. Oops.

I know how all of this seems. And I’ll admit there’s a large part of me that feels icky that innocent people are being entangled in my mission, but I can’t let myself be derailed. Hearing the urgency in Gillian Butler’s voice amplified my thirst for revenge.

“Are you having fun yet?” William leaned toward me conspiratorially. We’ve been at a spot called The Flatiron Room for the last hour or so, drinking a lot and eating very little. It’s located in the heart of New York City’s Flatiron District—another area I’ve never been to before. It’s so exciting discovering new neighborhoods!

The space is rich and masculine, with coffered ceilings, wood moldings, leather banquettes, and oversize chandeliers. Countless bottles of whiskey are showcased in see-through, back-lit cabinets surrounding us, and there’s a grand stage with thick red velvet curtains, even though we’re the only ones here. It’s like everything around us is glowing beneath the softest candlelight. If I had to choose one word and one word only to describe the atmosphere, it would be sexy.

“I am having fun. I’ve never done anything like this.” I took a sip of a thirty-year-old

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