I raised a brow. “You know how they say lying adds wrinkles? No amount of Botox can help you then.”
Jemima cursed and threw her hands up in exasperation. She turned on her heel and strode to the window of her office, drawing deeply from the dwindling stump of her cigarette as she glared outside. A cloud of wispy smoke trailed after her obediently.
Knowing that the worst of her anger had cooled, I made my way over to her, carefully stepping over the magazines scattered across the floor.
“You know I didn’t mean that.” I took my grandma’s slim shoulders in my hands and worked the tendons there, taking care to be gentle. Her bones felt fragile under my hands, her thin skin papery and soft. “You’re obviously the most gorgeous, most stunning woman in all of New York.”
“Shut up, boy.”
“Ninety-seven years, and you still look like a queen. You put all those party socialites to shame.”
Jemima exhaled a cloud of smoke, a faint glow warming her pale cheeks as she leaned back against me. “I am a queen. And I’m eighty, you fool.”
“I knew that, most gorgeous queen.”
We stood together in companionable silence watching the city below us outside.
When I was younger, Jemima used to pat me on the head when she was pleased, but now I had to double over just to rest my chin on her hair. She smelled of cigarettes and powder, and of expensive, musky perfume, the same way she always did.
The sky outside was darkening into late evening, and the sounds of traffic and billboard jingles drifted up to us. Manhattan was coming to life.
I glanced down at my grandmother. What did the great Queen James see when she looked out at the city five hundred feet below?
“I was just a girl when I first came to New York,” my grandmother murmured, lost in her thoughts. “I saw the lights, the glamour, the music. Old Broadway. I was so completely bewitched by her beauty, and I wanted all of it. Do you know what I see now?”
I shrugged. “Trash and piss in the streets? Rats dragging pizza slices down the subway?”
“Idiot boy,” she muttered again, blowing out another puff of tobacco smoke. “I still see the same thing I saw when I was sixteen. The city lights.”
The sky outside dimmed further as the evening drew near. Streaks of amber and red from the car lights below wound around the buildings like living veins, pulsing to the beat of New York.
“This city is my world, Gabriel. It could be yours too, if only you’ll reach out and take it.”
“But I don't want the world,” I said quietly, staring down at the city my grandmother so loved. “I just want my freedom.”
“Freedom comes at a steep price, my boy.”
“And I’m willing to pay the price.”
Jemima made a sound of frustration. “Why are you doing this, Gabriel? What is wrong?”
“Everything.”
My entire life was a farce, with the rest of my family acting out the same script, from my younger brother to my parents and even Jemima herself. Ironically, it had taken an exposé article by a certain anonymous tabloid writer to make me realize that.
But once I did, I couldn’t ignore it.
I wanted out.
I met my grandmother’s pained gaze in the window reflection. Her eyes were a faded brown that used to be dark like mine.
“I’m done,” I said softly. “Done with the ‘Perfect Guy’ act. Done with all the fake people kissing my ass when they want something from me. Done with all the cameras in my face everywhere I go, just waiting for me to slip up. And I will slip up Gran, ‘cause this isn’t me. None of it is.”
“Who are you then?” Jemima asked impatiently. “This shallow, selfish man without a shred of decency or self-control? Is this the real you?”
“I don’t know,” I said, feeling so damned weary all of a sudden. “That’s what fucking kills me. Thirty fucking years and I don’t even know who I am.”
“You’re just being stubborn now. I’m not telling you to stop your partying, Gabriel, I know you like your wild fun. But even with your parties, you still showed up to your shoots and your interviews and your engagements. You used to care what they say about you!” Jemima squeezed my hand pleadingly. “All I’m asking for is your discretion.”
“No, Gran, you’re asking for perfection.”
“I have to. They will not accept anything less.”
There was that word again. They, the nameless, faceless masses that dictated my every move even when I didn’t know who they were. They knew who I was, and apparently that was enough to give them power over me.
I looked out at the city lights below, seeing none of the beauty my grandmother described.
“You say New York is our court to command,” I said, “but it isn’t. We are the jesters. We sing and dance for their entertainment, and Gran… I’m so fucking tired of dancing.”
Jemima stiffened against me.
“I won’t hear any more nonsense, Gabriel. You’re my successor. Everything I created, this empire, it will all be yours when I’m gone. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“You’re gonna live forever,” I muttered.
“Don’t make fun, Gabriel.” My grandmother’s eyes glittered with emotion. “If you’re confused, then let me make it clear for you. Clean up your act, or leave.”
My eyebrows drew together. “What are you saying?”
“I’ll cut you off,” Jemima said, her words hitting me like a ton of bricks. “No more money. No more cars, no more shameful, debauched parties to embarrass me. You will not take another step through my door until you decide you want to play your role as an Easton again.”
The air was yanked from my lungs. “Gran—”
“It’s your choice.” Jemima turned to look me in the eye. “One word to my lawyers and I can take back everything, including that penthouse you love so much.”
“What the fuck?” I was completely lost for words. “So if I refuse to play along with your fucked-up fantasy world, you’re gonna take my shit?”
“I gave you that shit!” Jemima snapped. “Everything! Be grateful I’m not making you strip to your bare ass because I sure paid for the clothes on your back too!”
“Fuck, Gran, this will ruin me. Where would I go? Where would I fucking sleep?”
“If that scares you, then choose correctly!” Jemima drew from her cigarette again, and this time I saw that her hand was shaking. “I’m sorry, my boy, but this is the only way you will listen.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
I stared at my grandmother like she was a stranger, finally realizing just how far she would go for the Easton brand.
“I’m sorry,” I found myself saying. “But I won’t live like that. I can’t.”
Jemima’s mouth tightened into a furious line. “Then I’ll release the news to my publications on Monday.”
The finality in her words hit me like a punch in the gut. I was effectively penniless—and now the whole world will know.
I spun on my heel and strode to the door, wanting nothing more than to get the fuck out of Jemima James’ office.
Just as my hand touched the door handle, she spoke again, her voice brittle from years of chain-smoking, and from emotion.
“You were right, Gabriel, you always were my favorite.”
My hand tightened on the door handle.
“Then why are you doing this?” I gritted.
“Because I want you to understand! You’re risking everything we have—”
“Everything you have.”
I turned back to see my grandmother, the Great Jemima James, looking smaller and more tired than I had ever seen her. “I never wanted any of this.”
I left her office without waiting for her reply, my mind intent on getting the hell out of there.
What the fuck was I gonna do now?
“So you’re what now, broke?”
I scowled at Cam. “I’m not broke, I’m just… not very liquid.”
Cam scoffed. �
��Bullshit.”
I ignored him and folded my arms, regarding the Sound-of-Music-esque church hall we were standing in.
One would’ve thought we’d gone up in flames the moment we stepped foot in here, but Cam and I were still decidedly unbarbequed, so maybe I wasn’t as bad as Jemima or the tabloids made me out to be.
The church itself was pretty sweet, built sometime in the twelfth century and tucked away in the north of New York’s mountainous region. It was basically the whole package when you picture a church in the mountains—complete with white arched ceilings and restored stained glass windows and chandeliers. It was so pristine you could hear a heavenly choir humming in the background if you concentrated hard enough.
Allie had decided to hold her wedding here the moment she saw it—as in she literally saw it in a wedding brochure and shrugged and said, “Yeah, this will do,” and then moved on to something else entirely.
…which was a very Allie thing to do. That woman wasted no time in making up her mind, and that probably explained why she could tolerate Ryland Wyatt, Real Estate King of Manhattan and Cam’s and my best friend since high school.
Right now, Cam and I were dutifully in position in the main chapel for our first and only rehearsal as Ryland’s groomsmen. The hall was packed with hired movers shifting furniture, preparing columns of floral arrangements, and vacuuming the carpets to prepare the place for a hundred of New York’s highest net worth VIPs. Allie’s wedding organizer was in the middle of it all, spinning around with the frazzled look of someone who was mentally flipping out but was trying not to show it.
Oh, and did I mention the wedding’s tomorrow morning?
Allie went too damn far sometimes.
“Thanks for letting me crash, by the way,” I said to Cam. “I knew you cared.”
“I don’t give a shit about you, I just want you to get your bearings and then get off of my plate ASAP.”
“Fight me, fucker.”
“Anytime, and I’d win every time.”
Cam was massive—larger than even Ryland, so that wasn’t an empty brag. The guy had more muscles than brains, and that was saying something ‘cause he was pretty damn sharp.
He was also too damn competitive, which made him a pain to go up against—though it wasn’t impossible once you realized his movements were repetitive.
“Not always,” I grinned. “Aren’t we like, 39–49 in the ring?”
“It’s 38 for you, jackass. You fought dirty last time.”
“The fuck you talking about, I fight dirty every time.” I waved away a speck of pollen floating in my face. “So what’s it gonna be? I still get to crash, right? Your manager’s charging me twenty-five percent by the way, is this the best you can do for a friend?”
Cam gave me a dirty look. “Are you being serious right now? You’re taking up my Presidential Suite and the rate goes at twenty grand per night—plus you’re drinking all my best liquor and eating the highest grade food from the kitchen. I’m putting all that on your tab, by the way. With interest.”
I gave him a reproachful look. “You’ve been spying on me.”
“I spy on everyone. I know everything that goes on in my hotel—” he flicked a speck off his lapel, “—and every dollar that goes out of it.”
“Lancaster, your family owns a bloody hotel chain.” I ducked out of the way of four movers hefting a massive wooden pew. “You’re so rich it’s disgusting, it won’t kill you to give me a discount.”
“No, it’ll just cost me twenty grand per night,” Cam countered, folding his arms to mirror my stance. “Seriously, either downgrade to a smaller suite or get the fuck out.”
“Oh yeah?” I smiled pleasantly. “Remind me again, who stood up for you when Coach wanted you off the team for screwing the cheerleaders in the showers?”
Cam‘s eyebrows lowered. “You were right there with me—”
“And who took the fall for you when we were arrested for joyriding?”
“That was like twelve years ago!”
“Fine then, here’s an easy one. Who called BS on that redhead chick when she said she was pregnant with your kid and turns out, it wasn’t your kid?”
Cam glowered at me, and I grinned back.
“You could have been eighteen and shackled, but I saved your ass. If I were you and had a hotel, I’d be sharing the best of it with me is all I’m sayin’.”
“If you had a hotel, you’d run it to the ground.” Cam brushed more pollen off the front of his jacket irritably. “I’ll give you two more weeks, and then I’m downgrading you to a deluxe.”
“A month, and then I want a suite with a view.”
“Three weeks, and then a double room.”
“A suite, with a view.”
“How high are you?” Cam demanded.
I grinned. “6’3.”
“Then you’ll have a perfect view of my ass.”
“Whatever, I’ll have my shit sorted by then. Probably.” I paused. “When are preparations for Skyline Capital gonna be ready, by the way?”
The firm that Ryland, Cam and I had started together late last year was starting to look like my only option for survival.
“Not much longer,” Cam said. “You just gotta stay afloat for a month more, and then you’ll get your dream job.”
“Dream job?” I said blankly. “But Cam, I don’t dream of labor.”
Cam shot me a look of pure murder.
“Fuck, I hate having broke friends,” he muttered. “That move you pulled with Jemima was just stupid—I don’t see why I have to pay for it.”
“Dude! Keep it down, are you trying to tell the whole damn world or what?”
Cam raised his eyes to the ceiling as if begging for patience. “Sure, let me keep it a secret for the next three days so they’ll all be surprised on Monday when she announces it in the press. Wouldn’t wanna ruin it for anybody.”
I groaned. “Thanks for the reminder.”
Come Monday, the official news would be released that I’d been cut-off. In just three days I would no longer be the Heir to the Easton empire. I would simply be Gabriel Easton, fallen from grace, newly minted tabloid fodder.
On the bright side, I no longer had a whole schedule of photoshoots and interviews to keep up with. No manager over my shoulder and no scripts to memorize. I could say and do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.
Be my own person. There was that, at least.
It had to be worth it… right?
I narrowed my eyes and did some quick mental calculations. Judging by the rate my remaining funds were depleting, whatever money I had left in my personal account would last me three months, likely less.
And then I’d be broke.
“I don’t fucking get it,” Cam suddenly said. “You got a damned good deal if you ask me. Show up for some events and shoots, get paid for it. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is that’s all I know. My whole life I’ve been happy to…” I gestured my hands as I searched for the right words. “I don’t know, stand there and look good? But recently I can’t help but think, what else is there to me?”
Cam raised a brow. “You read that anonymous article, didn’t you? I thought you knew better than to read the tabloids.”
“Trust me, I’m starting to wish I hadn’t, but this one was different from the other tabloids.”
I paced restlessly, thinking back on that article.
“All the nasty pieces about me in the press are usually something vapid, like my partying or my hook-ups or my fashion choices. But this one? This was personal. Whoever the writer is, she knows everything about me, from my life as a kid to the shit I got up to in high school and college—everything. And her parting shot, after knowing all that about me?” I shot Cam a look of disbelief. ““The most important thing Gabriel Easton has ever done was to be born an Easton.””
“I don’t see the problem with it,” Cam said mildly.
I stared at him. “Are you kidding me? It’s bulls
hit! I’m the winner of fourteen entertainment awards and an alumni of fucking Yale, but apparently I’ve done nothing important? Like what the hell else am I supposed to do?” I planted my hands at my waist and stared at Cam in annoyance. “I was the face of Changing Lives NYC, for fuck’s sake.”
“Gabe,” Cam cut in smoothly, “did you know that newborn elephants weigh up to two-hundred-and-fifty pounds at birth?”
“What?” I frowned. “No, why?”
“Nothing, it just makes them the biggest babies on earth right after your bitch ass. Quit your whining, it’s just a tabloid.”
I rolled my eyes. “Get fucked.”
To be honest, I didn’t get why I was acting this way either. All I knew was that the tabloid writer had convinced even me that there was nothing more to me than my face.
Helena Hastings. The article was published anonymously by The Tattler, but everyone knew it was her who wrote it.
I swear to god, if I ever met that bitch in person, I’d—
“Unbelievable,” Cam said, watching the chaotic wedding preparations around us in amusement. “One year ago we were free men, now two of us four are as good as gone.”
“Valentine is not one of us,” I said automatically. “Not after all the shit he pulled.”
“Let it go, man. It’s over.”
“I will when he stops being an asshole. He didn’t even bother to come to the rehearsal.”
“Karin said he was busy with trials.”
“Whatever.” I cracked my neck impatiently, not wanting to discuss our ex-friend who had screwed us over so many times I lost count. “Where are the bridesmaids? I’m not used to being the earliest to the party.”
“They’ll be here anytime now.” Cam raised a brow. “Why the hurry, you got some other place to be? Job interview, hopefully?”
“Oh Cam, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with you.”
“Dude,” he warned. “Watch it.”
“You’re making me all wet for you, c’mere and gimme a kiss—”
“Get the fuck off me!”
“Ahem! Are we intruding on something?”
I looked around to see Karin, Allie’s baby sister, and Bailey, Cam’s partner bridesmaid, grinning at us.
Charming (New York Heirs #3) Page 2