Goodbye, Mr. Ex: I've Remarried Mr. Right

In no time, a small army of makeup artists and designers descended upon Eve, transforming her into a veritable princess.

Three artists fussed over her alone, their brushes and combs dancing with practiced ease.

Envious whispers filled the air.

"Must be nice having a chairman for a dad."

"Right? Imagine having that kind of clout."

Ashley, spotting her chance, hurried over to Eve. "Eve, you're a marvel. Just one call, and you've got a whole team here. Could you spare a few for me?"

Her eyes sparkled with hope. Having buttered Eve up for ages, she expected some reward.

Eve cast her a sidelong glance. "You?"

Ashley bobbed her head eagerly. "Come on, Eve. We're friends, right? Their skills are miles ahead of the company's artists."

Ashley was sure Eve wouldn't refuse, but Eve just scoffed, "Friends? We're competitors, Ashley. You think I'd let you steal my thunder?"

Ashley's jaw dropped. Around them, people snickered, enjoying the show.

"Looks like the bootlicker got the boot."

"You should just focus on your afternoon plans. Everyone heard Ashley judge our makeup artists."

"If their skills are poor, Ashley, you'll have to figure it out on your own."

...

Ashley's face fell as she turned to

the company's artists, but they didn't pay her any attention. In the end, her makeup was a hot mess, the worst among the trainees.

"What is this? It's hideous," she cried.

The makeup artist shrugged. "Our skills aren't up to your standards, Miss Steele. Sorry about that."

Hannah poked her head into the room. "Time's up, everyone. Let's go."

Debra stood, and the makeup artists gaped. They'd assumed her flawless look was the work of a pro, but it was all her own doing.

The photographer snapped casualConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

shots of each trainee, not letting- them see the results. When Eve's turn@ame, she strutted up, nose in

the air. ene

The photographer glanced at his camera, frowned, and said, "Could you turn slightly to the side, please?"

Eve huffed but complied. After the shot, the photographer waved her off with barely a glance.

Then it was Debra's turn. The photographer's face lit up. "Ms. Frazier, could you strike a few more poses? Let's take some extra shots." Debra silently complied, moving with natural grace.

Later, in the cafeteria, Eve stared at her plate, appetite gone. She

slammed her hand on the table net

"What's with that photographer? Does he think I'm fat or something?"