Chapter 66 Book Il

• Elizabeth
• Oliver Huxley is well-oiled tonight. I’m not surprised. He’s been drinking whisky since the party started at seven, and it’s now almost one a.m. Fortunately nobody else can tell, as he’s always been able to hold his drink. He’s one of those guys who just becomes progressively funnier with each shot he puts away.
• I go to put my glass on the table, miss, and nearly fall off my chair. Hmm, maybe it’s me who’s well-oiled. I’ve tried to pace myself this evening, but it’s tough to refuse Huxley when he’s at his most charming, and he’s been sending over doubles of the most expensive whiskies all evening. Earlier I complained that he was trying to get me drunk, and he replied that he was hoping I’d fall over to entertain the guests. It’s not beyond the realms of possibility considering I’m wearing my usual three-inch stilettos. Being five-foot-one in my bare feet means I nearly always wear high heels—not that it brings me much closer to Huxley’s six-two frame. He’s always teasing me about being ‘vertically-challenged’.