DROP TWENTY-THREE
Look pretty. Look fuckable. This was Mamacita’s mantra, and she repeated it in her mind over and over. She took a wobbly step down the stairs, trying very hard not to trip on her long gown.
This was a socialite’s event, after all.
All the bigwigs were here. Executive chiefs from Aphrodite Cosmetics, Zeus Electric, heck, even a guy from Hephaistos Heavy Industries had drawn the short straw and was forced to attend. Mamacita could see the poor man standing in the corner, eating the canapés. He was definitely an engineer or an architect, a man who could rule over an entire construction site of two hundred organics and e-persons, but felt so out of place in this social event. It was cute, in a way.
But she couldn’t be bothered with him. She had a job to do.
She pushed up
