“Think of it as an insurance policy.” He extends the PopSocket on my phone case, using it to nestle the phone in the space at the edge of my mirror. “The more people who know about your Meryton stuff, the more likely you are to actually go through with showing it off.”

“I’m not going to flake,” I say. “I want this.”

“Lizard, I’ve been waiting three years for this! Tell me everything.” On the screen, Chloe’s at her vanity, working on a look for her upcoming shoots. Her bangs are pushed back in a headband, and since Jane stole my phone, she’s made one eye up in a vibrant red ombre that covers the whole lid up to a thick, dark brow. “Meryton is where the burlesque show is, right?”

“Yes. But I haven’t shown the powers that be anything yet,” I clarify.

“Still, that’s so great to hear,” says Chloe. “I know what happened at the internship screwed with you. But I felt like you’d find your way back to it.” She beams at me, and it’s like a cross-country hug.

“Andrea said she and Charles would consider my work once the sale is final,” I say. “There are no guarantees, but it feels really good to have even that sliver of a prospect out there.”

“Speaking of feeling good.” Ming prods me with the rounded end of a pin. “You going to tell everyone about the other highlight of that evening?”

I cut my eyes at her and she grins wickedly.

Chloe’s brows peak. “Another highlight?”

“You made the most of the open back of that dress.” Ming resumes her pinning. “Or, he did.”

“Who is this now?” Jane asks.

Ming’s dark eyes widen, her mouth going round in mock surprise. “Kitten, are you keeping secrets from our Sweet Jane?”

“I . . .” I clear my throat. The memory of Darcy’s hands flares all over my back, but I chase it away, thinking of Wickham. “I don’t know where I am with that.”

“I can tell you where you should be with that. Somewhere horizontal and weight bearing. The two of you were radiating sex,” Ming says.

“Weren’t you downstairs?”

“I got a peek of the action. I thought he was going to stick his hand into the dress.”

“That—” The idea of being close enough to Darcy for him to pull that off evicts any concern for poor, wronged Wickham.

We’d have to be pressed together fully, his hand sliding along my skin to edge beneath the dress, down to my waist . . .

I shiver.

“What did I just witness?” Jane asks in a high voice.

Chloe laughs. “I think I heard her ovulate.”

“Shut up, all of you,” I complain.

“Who is this even about? Wickham?” Jane ventures.