Nacho Figueras Presents by Jessica Whitman

help being a bit dismayed that, despite full knowledge of Sam’s betrayal, he still acted as if Sam were the best she’d ever do.
    “We’ll discuss it when I get home, okay?”
    She eased off the phone and looked over at Billy, who was not even trying to pretend he hadn’t heard the whole conversation.
    “That sounded fun,” he said.
    She sighed and closed her eyes for a minute. “We’re not going to talk about that. I’m right here, right now. So”—she opened her eyes brightly—“what’s a girl to do in Wellington? Just keep me off the boats and well away from the elder Del Campo brother.”
    Billy laughed. “Not a problem. The man never goes out, from what I hear. He’s basically a monk. Anyway, first, we need to get you dressed. And no offense, but I know you, Fellowes, and I happen to know that the only dress you own is probably that sad little polyester number you wore at graduation. So I pulled in a few samples. It may look like overkill. But the thing you have to know about Wellington is that every night’s prom night…”
    Thanks to the bounty of freebies from Billy’s stylist friends, Georgia’s bedroom was soon an explosion of tissue paper and sparkling sequins and strappy heels. The suitcase containing her stained gold dress sat ignored to one side while Billy plied her with Prosecco and an assortment of outfits with the price tags still attached.
    She tried on a sweeping silk maxi-dress the bright green of a parrot’s wing. Billy shook his head and called for more leg. “Why would you cover those gorgeous things up?”
    She wiggled into a short black Versace dress and stepped into a pair of six-inch pumps. Billy whistled. “That’s better. You look like a high-class hooker! And I mean that in an entirely good way!”
    Georgia took that dress off quickly.
    It was like a Hollywood movie montage. Georgia tried on dress after dress while Billy made her bandy about horse terminology to amuse him.
    “Wait, so what part’s the gaskin again?” He giggled. He managed to make everything sound dirty.
    There was only so much looking in a mirror Georgia could stand so she finally settled on an inky blue Calvin Klein slip dress with silver sandals. (“Sexy but not slutty,” pronounced Billy. “Not that there’s anything wrong with slutty.”) She considered putting on the pendant that Sam had given her, but then hesitated and decided to leave her neck bare.
    Billy looked immaculate in his uniform of never-before-worn white V-neck tee, fitted gray Armani jacket, and perfectly cut jeans.
    Another mojito while Georgia painted her toes, and they were good and ready to go.
    Wellington was a scene. Sleek Italian cars cruised under a picture-perfect Florida sunset, every restaurant teeming with people spilling out onto the gorgeously landscaped streets. Women struck poses in heels and showed off their whitest whites against sun-kissed, perfectly toned skin.
    They pulled up to a nightclub, and Billy handed his car over to the valet. Georgia looked at the long line snaking around the corner and seeing the crowd gave her a sudden flash of paranoia. What if she were to go in and they told her she’d been wrong? What if the poor, priceless pony had been ruined and it was all her fault?
    Her stomach churned with fear on seeing Sebastian rushing up the street toward them. She held her breath, for a minute thinking he was coming at her in anger, but he was running toward her only to sweep her up into a bone-cracking hug. “ Señorita Fellowes!” he said, smiling. “Our genius lady vet!”
    He introduced Georgia to Hendy. “This is Lord Henderson, our patrón . He is also in your debt.”
    Georgia looked at him, not understanding the term “ patrón ,” and Lord Henderson smiled under his salt-and-pepper mustache. “A patrón pays to play, my dear. I bankroll half the team’s costs, and in return, they put up with me on the field. A bit like owning a basketball team, except that they actually let me