Happy Hour Read Online Free PDF Page A

anything and everything around her. The room seemed to spin and a
wave of dizziness wrapped around her. She blinked. Twice. The fog dissipated
and clarity set in.
    The man headed straight for the table. Terrell smiled. Alyssa’s throat
closed. She tried to swallow. He had a Bergdorf Goodman bag. James. He’d called
himself Jimmy back then. Twenty pounds heavier, but it was still him. Alyssa’s
hands started to sweat. Her vision blurred again. Her mouth totally dry. He
faced her and reached his hand out to shake hers. Did he not recognize her? He really
didn’t seem to. She looked at his wife, glittery and amazingly beautiful. James
handed Olivia the bag. He removed his hand from Alyssa’s. A deep burn ran from
her palm all the way up her shoulder and she tried to find words.
    “This must be your beautiful fiancée,” James/Jimmy said. “She’s even more
beautiful than you said, brother.”
    “She is amazing.” Terrell looked at her oddly.
    He was wondering what was wrong with her. He knew her too well. He was
reading her. She had to say something.
    She forced a smile. “Thank you.” It was all she could say, knowing that
the skeleton was out of the closet.

 
CHAPTER THREE
Danielle
    These things were always so phony. The smiles, the chit-chat, the
bullshit. Women in their designer outfits discussing the latest craze in
cosmetic surgery and gossiping about which desperate housewife had taken the
leap and gone under the miracle worker’s knife. Good God, could it be any more
dull than that? Get a life, right? But Danielle Bastillia caved every time
someone called and asked her if she would participate in whatever charity event
their organization represented. Al thought it was wonderful, explaining how
necessary it was to keep good community relations. Sure, that was a part of it.
However, for Danielle, it always came down to the charity itself.  She was a
sucker for kids, animals, anything and anyone stricken. Maybe it was the
Catholic upbringing and the inevitable guilt that came with it, but come on?
How could she turn down the Leukemia Fund for Children’s Hospital, or the
rescue center for greyhounds?  Everyone knew that if you invited Danielle
Bastillia to your charity event, she would show up to donate her wines and her
time.
    Today’s event was yet another Danielle could add to her list. She braved
a smile at Marilyn Dixon, the co-chair for Homeless Teenage mothers. Ah,
Marilyn, all cheeky and blonde. Indeed she’d seen the inside of Dr. Get-Rich-Off-Women’s-Insecurities
office. Her face was taut to the point where Danielle found herself wanting to
touch it to see if it felt like Saran Wrap.
    “Danielle, you look absolutely stunning. Vintage Diane, right? It’s
amazing on you. Love the purse, too. Prada, right? Saw it at Bloomie’s in the
Big Apple and should have grabbed it, but the hubby was rushing me. He had some
meeting or something. I don’t know. Anyway, you’re seated at my table, and…oh,
you…” she snapped and pointed at one of the servers. “What’s your name?”
    “John,” the young man replied.
    “Right. John, can you please move the chairs over there that are blocking
that doorway and put them in a back room or something? It’s not tidy-looking.”
    The server nodded and scurried off.
    One thing, well, two things that Marilyn was actually good at: charm and
delegating. She had those down to a T. Even with her apparent ADD. 
    Marilyn haphazardly flung her hands in the air, cocked her head to the
side, and smiled back at Danielle. “Thank you so much for your time today. Your
wines are lovely . Everyone is singing praises.”
    Anyone who used the word lovely or expressions like “singing praises”
was someone Danielle could never trust. Especially anyone who looked like
Marilyn Dixon—hair dyed a golden blonde that was only natural on three-year-old
children, eyes a shocking ocean blue that surely came from colored contacts,
and skin that was…well, that was the