Just this week, Georgia Clark’s The Regulars is out in the world!ย Funny, feisty and sexy, this modern-day fairy tale is already receiving a lot of buzz. I can’t wait to read it myself and I’m so excited to share with you the first chapter from this must-read novel.
โฆย Amazon U.S.ย |ย Amazon Hardcoverย |ย Amazon U.K.ย |ย iBooksย โฆ
Best friends Evie, Krista, and Willow are just trying to make it through their mid-twenties in New York. Theyโre regular girls, with average looks and typical quarter-life crises: making it up the corporate ladder, making sense of online dating, and making rent.
Until they come across Pretty, a magic tincture that makes them, well…gorgeous. Like, supermodel gorgeous. And itโs certainly notย theirย fault if the sudden gift of beauty causes unexpected doors to open for them.
But thereโs a dark side to Pretty, too, and as the gloss fades for these modern-day Cinderellas, thereโs just one question left:
What would you sacrifice to be Pretty?
Chapter 1
Despite her motherโs impassioned insistence to the contrary, Evie Selby had never thought of herself as beautiful. There were moments when she felt cute: some high-angle, low-light selfies that made her dyed black hair and small, intent face look pixieish, even sweet. There were moments when she felt cool: the day she started wearing the thickest black-rimmed glasses she could find, the night a line of poetry was inked into her pale forearm. But beautiful? No. That was the domain of women with evenly placed, oversized features, with hair like horsesโ manes and bodies like foreign sports cars: angular, flashy, quietly powerful. Women like the smirking, self-satisfied model who was emblazoned on one of the glossy page proofs that were tucked under her arm. If only she had a quarter, a fifth, an eighth of that womanโs allure, Evie might feel more confident about tonightโs date.
Stop it, she instructed herself. She pushed her glasses up her nose and drew in a breath of summer-thick city air. You are a goddess. You are a catch. You are, like, the outcome of every self-help book ever written. And, she realized on checking the time, you are also late. She was supposed to be at the Wythe Gallery three and a half minutes ago.
Despite what those on the happily coupled sidelines might think, 99 percent of online dates werenโt exciting enough to be fun or nerve- racking enough to be adventurous. They were just . . .ย awkward. Boring. An hour of small talk with someone youโd think twice about saving from a burning building. Online dating was like Russian roulette. Mostly misses. But sometimes, people Evie knew had met that all-too-rare bullet: a smart, aesthetically pleasing New Yorker who was still single. Maybe tonight, Evie thought, is the night I blow my brains out. The gallery was only half full. Even though it was a Monday, sheโd been expecting a bigger crowd, if only from the cachet of Willowโs last name. A mere smattering of Brooklynites clad in sheer skirts and vintage bow ties stood chatting in front of her friendโs pocket-sized experimental photographs. And they all seemed paired off. Everyone except one girl on the other side of the room. About Evieโs height, but thinner, smaller. Dark hair fell to her shoulders. She was dressed simply in a T-shirt and skinny jeans. When she turned to look at a photograph,ย Evieโs jaw loosened.
Totally cute.
Totally Ellen Pageโy.
Impossibly, Quinn was even more attractive in person.
Panic coursed through Evieโs veins. I should have worn an A-game dress. She needed booze. A small bar offered wine and beer. Willowโs boyfriend, Mark, was playing barkeep.
โHey.โ She dumped the proofs onto the folding table. โCan I leave these here? Is my makeup okay? What white wine do you have?โ She shot another look at Quinn, not yet ready for eye contact.
โEvie, hey.โ The tall, bespectacled boy gathered his replies quickly. โYes, yes, and sauvignon blanc. Rough day at the office?โ
Evie shook her head. โDate.โ She nodded at Quinn. โAh.โ Mark handed her a cup. โFun.โ
โNervous.โ โUnnecessary.โ โLying.โ
โUntrue!โ
Evie cracked a smile.
Mark grinned. โGo get โem, tiger.โ
Evie grabbed another cup for Quinn and began walking over, trying to quell the irritating kick of nerves. โQuinn?โ
At the sound of her name, the girl turned, revealing a moon-shaped face, and eyes that seemed more round than oval. Clear skin. Sweet smile. โEvie?โ
โIn the flesh,โ Evie said, trying not to think about her own less-than- clear skin, her own less-than-sweet smile. โHi.โ
โHi.โ
โHi,โ Evie said again, inwardly kicking herself for sounding like a robot. She offered Quinn the cup. โThirsty?โ
โActually, I donโt drink. I donโt need to drug myself to enjoy life.โ Evie blinked. Fucking online datingโ
โIโm kidding.โ Quinn grinned and plucked the wine from her hand. โThanks.โ
โOh.โ Evie breathed laughter. Online, Quinn was acerbic and difficult to pin down, qualities Evie found as attractive as the warmer, less artfully constructed person standing in front of her.
Quinn glanced around. โThis is your friendโs opening?โ
โYeah. Willow Hendriksen.โ Only now did she spot Willow pressed into one corner, walled in by some intense arty types. Her formless green silk shift and light ash-blond hair colored with a hint of pastel pink gave the twenty-two-year-old the look of being slightly untethered. There was something distinctly ethereal about Willow Hendriksen, like she might transform into a flock of birds if you snapped your fingers. โThatโs her.โ Quinn looked at Willow as if she was nervous to get caught doing so.
โThatโs Matteo Hendriksenโs daughter, right? The filmmaker?โ Evie nodded. โMm-hmm.โ
โWow. Cool. Have you met him?โ
โYeah.โ Evie nodded again, warming to the fact Quinn seemed impressed by this. โSure. Heโs not in the States much these days. But Willow still lives at home, so when heโs around,ย weย hang.ย We chill. Weโre chill buddies.โ Evie winced. Did I really just say chill buddies?
โGod, I canโt imagine what that must be like,โ Quinn said. โHaving created so much great art that people like and respect.โ
What Evie couldnโt imagine was how she was in Quinnโs league. โSo, youโre a musician?โ
Quinn shrugged. โTrying.โ
โYou sound like youโd have a great singing voice. And you have a great look.โ
Quinn smiled in pleased surprise. โThanks.โ She moved to the next photo. Evie trailed her. โSomeone just told me what you spend most of your time doing is actually what you do. Like, if you say youโre an actor, but you just go to one audition a week and spend most of your time working as a server, then youโre a server. I did the math, and hey, turns out I am a musician.โ Quinn smiled up at Evie, almost shyly. โAnd your profile tells me youโre a writer. What do you write about?โ
Evie didnโt think of herself as a writer in the way Quinn was a musician. She had a blog called Something Snarky, but it was anonymous, and it wasnโt what she spent most of her time doing. That was being a lowly copyeditor for a womenโs magazine called Salty, fixing typos in stories called โHow to Blow His Mind Using the Contents of Your Refrigerator.โ That wouldnโt impress somebody like Quinn. โI write for the New York Times.โ The words fell out of her mouth, as unplanned as a sneeze.
โWhoa!โ Quinn laughed a little. โWow. Thatโs amazing.โ
โI think theyโre trying to even out their gender ratio, you know?โ Evie improvised, recalling the fact the Times had the biggest gender gap in the industry when it came to writers. โIt has its ups and downs. Like everything.โ
โYouโre a staff writer?โ Quinnโs eyes stayed wide.
โYep,โ Evie said. โI interned there during college, and just started a few months ago.โ
โWow. I know I said it before, but that is really impressive.โ Quinnโs eyes stayed glued on Evieโs a beat longer than they should have before she slid them away. Warm, liquid desire unspooled slowly in Evieโs stomach, like a cat waking up from a long afternoon nap.
โHave you eaten?โ Quinn asked. Evie shook her head.
โOh good, Iโm starving. Thereโs a Moroccan place around the corner.
Any interest?โ
โSure.โ Definitely. Three thousand percent. โGreat. Iโll just use the restroom.โ
Evie slung her purse over her shoulder to go linger at the galleryโs entrance. She sipped her wine, actively containing the sheer exhilaration that Quinnโs suggestionโmore specifically, Quinnโs acceptanceโhad inspired. It had been six months since sheโd had sex. The most action sheโd gotten all summer was a Pap smear. And while (when done properly) sex could be a whole lot of messy, sticky fun, what she really missed was being kissed. The nervous, enthusiastic, almost-always-botched first kiss, memorable in its imperfection, passionately inelegant. This narrative was leading to that kiss. The meal, the drink after the meal, the amble to someoneโs subway, the kiss.
Of course, her lie was stupid. But she could always back out of it later. Or hell, maybe she could get something published in the Times. Sure, she was only twenty-three, but the way Quinn had been looking at her made her feel like she could climb Mount Kilimanjaro without breaking a sweat.
โEvie.โ
The low, almost musical murmur could only be the lady of the hour. โWillow, hey!โ Evie gave her a one-armed hug, pressing her free hand into Willowโs sharp shoulder blade. โCongratulations.โ
Willow smiled wistfully and let her gaze wander around the half-empty room. โI never wanted to be famous because of my name, but this is sort of depressing.โ
โNo, itโs not! This is amazing.โ
โWhich is why youโre leaving after . . . five minutes?โย โIโm not leaving! Iโm just . . . going to a different placeโโ
Willow waved the excuse off and gave Evie a knowing smile. โAm I witnessing a rare Evie flirt?โ
โIndeed you are.โ Evie couldnโt help but grin. โWeโre getting food.โ โThatโs great. You look really pretty.โ
โOh please.โ Evie rubbed at the dark circles she was sure her glasses accentuated. โI look like someone just punched me in the face.โ
โStop it.โ Willow tugged a lock of Evieโs dark hair affectionately.
Quinnโs voice sounded behind them. โYour friend behind the bar gave these to me. Wanted to make sure you didnโt forget them.โ
Evie spun around.
Quinn was carrying the Salty proofs. The story on top was about va-jazzling. โ โAdd some ooh-ah to your hoo-ha.โ โ Quinn read Evieโs subhead aloud, before fixing her with an odd frown. โWowsers.โ
โGod, are you still taking work home, Evie? I thought you said you werenโt doing that anymore.โ Willow smiled at Quinn. โIโm Willow.โ
โQuinn,โ Quinn replied, but she was looking at Evie. โWork?โย โIโve been trying to get her to quit all year,โ Willow said. โMaybe youย can help me stage an intervention.โ
Evie darted her gaze from Willow, to Quinn, to the pages. Her throat had tightened. โTheyโre not actually for me.โ
โBut your nameโs there.โ Quinn pointed to the white ticket stapled to the top, reading, โ โCopyeditor: Evie Selby.โ โ
โRight.โ Evieโs cheeks were warming. Her breathing had become shallow. โRight.โ
โCall me later.โ Willow melted away.
โSo youโre a copyeditor as well as being a journalist,โ Quinn said, sounding as if she didnโt believe herself.
Shit. Shit. โNo.โ Evieโs voice was pint-sized. โI mean, Iโm just the first part.โ
Quinnโs mouth was ajar, set into a look of bewildered confusion. โYou straight-up lied about writing for the Times.โ
โActually, I was positively visualizing my perfect future.โ Evie licked her lips. โItโs a very powerful technique.โ
โLying?โ โVisualizing.โ
Quinnโs expression became incredulous. All warmth, all interest had been sucked away.
โPlease donโt go,โ Evie said. โYouโreโfuckโyouโre really cute, and nice, and I am too, nice, I mean. Juryโs still out on cute.โ She was babbling. โI fucked up, Iโm sorry.โ
Quinn backed up a step, slowly, as if not wanting to alarm an angry dog. โSorry, Evie. This just feels wrong.โ
Her date exited the gallery, leaving Evie with a plastic cup of wine and a guide on how to accessorize a vagina.
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