“But you just got here.” Lil tightened her grip. “We’ll have some champagne. The bubbles will settle your stomach.”

Arms linked, Deena and Kylie followed them down the hall. I dragged my feet, bringing up the rear. Crossing my arms over my chest, I hugged myself like I could keep from falling apart.

“Jax! Bryce! Get a load of this.” Lil shoved Samantha into the center of the great room.

From the couch, the guys barely acknowledged her.

“What do you think?” Kylie asked, posing with her hand on her hip.

“You can clean my house any time,” Bryce said to Kylie. “But I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole and rubber gloves.” He nodded at Samantha, whose shoulders slumped. She tried to shield her chest with her arms.

“Don’t be dumb,” Lil said, throwing a pillow at him. “You’re not allowed to touch anyone, anyway. You’re here to watch.” With that, she popped a bottle of champagne and took a big swallow before handing it to Dee.

“Pillow fight!” Kylie yelled, picking up a furry white pillow and nailing me in the face with it.

I threw up my hands to defend myself. “Ouch.”

“Come on, Ella.” Dee handed me the bottle. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“That’s what you think.” I picked up a black sequined pillow and swung half-heartedly at Dee, dousing her with champagne in the process.

“Oh,” she sputtered. “It’s on.”

She whacked me in the back of the head just as Lil took her down at the knees, and I couldn’t help but laugh, hearing my old friend squeal with glee. The champagne flowed, and we pounded each other with pillows, running around giggling, tripping, tackling. I nearly convinced myself it was fun.

Jax circled us, controller in hand, manually filming. I tried to make sure I was covered, terrified of suggestive images of me existing, but with the pillow assault, it was all I could do to stay on my feet.

And then I heard the screams.

Lil was holding Sam’s head back while Bryce forced her to swallow the rest of the champagne. She was choking, crying for them to stop, but they wouldn’t let up.

“You need to relax, Sam. You’re too stiff. This will help,” Lil said. When the bottle was finished, she pulled Sam to her feet, smiling that fake grin of hers. “Whipped cream!” she yelled.

Shaking a canister, she sprayed Sam with it, smearing it over her thighs and chest.

Deena and Kylie got in on the action, shooting whipped cream until the cans were empty and they were gasping for breath, laughing hysterically.

But I wasn’t laughing. And neither was Sam. She was crying.

“Cameras off,” Lil commanded.

“Stop crying,” Kylie said once the screens showed they were blank. “Do you want your investors to think you’re a baby? They bought into you because you’re sexy. Give them what they want.”