Joanne pressed her lips together.
That woman had a habit of documenting and posting every petty moment as if she were the main character in some grand drama instead of a glorified gossip machine.
Joanne barely spared her a glance. "Should I change my face just for this? Like you did?"
Bernice's expression twitched—or at least, tried to. The Botox did most of the heavy lifting, freezing half of her outrage in place.
"What the hell are you~"
Before her screech could reach a frequency high enough to fry brain cells, Joanne raised a hand and made a talking puppet gesture. "Blah, blah, blah… I've filled up your daily word quota. Now, will you let me pass, or are you about to start charging toll fees?"
Bernice's manicured claws tightened around her phone. She wouldn't post this—not if she knew she was the one getting mocked. That woman was too narcissistic to risk looking bad in her own curated little world. Joanne had played her like a fiddle, and as always, it worked.
