by Sky Corgan
Between Two Billionaires
The Complete Series
SKY CORGAN
Text copyright 2014 by Sky Corgan
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author.
Between Two Billionaires
Part One
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
CHAPTER ONE
“Eureka! I found it!” Ethel bursts through my bedroom door. A broad smile stretches across her face as if she has the best news in the world.
I groan, turning my computer chair towards her. “Don't you know how to knock?”
Apparently, she doesn't. She's prone to walking into my room whenever she wants, no matter how many times I chastise her about it. You'd think she owned the place. She doesn't own the place. Our parents do. But, if I'm being honest, she was here first. My mom and I moved in a few years ago when our parents finally got married.
“So.” Ethel sets herself down on my bed, making herself comfortable. “There's this rich guy who is throwing a party this weekend.” She looks at me expectantly, as if she thinks I can read her mind.
“And?” I can't hide the annoyance from my voice. It's not like I was doing anything important. Just chatting online with friends. It's the principal of the matter though. I could have been naked, and she just walked right in like it was nothing.
“That's where I'm going to meet my rich husband.” She does a strange head roll, as if the answer should have been obvious.
I can't help but laugh. “You do that.”
“I am, and you're coming with me.”
“Oh?” This is news to me. I'm not at all interested, but I know I have no choice but to hear her out. That's what she came here for, to dish out her devious plan.
“Yup. You and Lisa. Maybe we'll all get rich husbands,” she squeals as if she's imagining us all with Prince Charmings on our arms. Sometimes I wonder how she survives, living in such inflated fantasies. Her life is a roller coaster of irrational hope and disappointment. Maybe if she'd just get a job, she wouldn't have to worry about finding a rich husband to support her.
“The rich husband thing is all you.” I smirk, turning my chair to face her. She's not going anywhere any time soon; I can tell.
“Every girl wants a rich husband,” she sighs dreamily.
“If you say so.” There's no point in arguing with her. Then I'd have to sit through a lecture detailing out why marrying rich is the best way to go. The answers are obvious, but that's not what I want for myself. I want to get by on hard work, supporting myself, never having to rely on a man.
“So anyway, you're in, right?” She readjusts herself on the bed, staring at me intently. Her dark eyes are so big, it's hard not to get caught up in her enthusiasm.
“I'm not really interested,” I say hesitantly.
“Girl, you haven't even heard my plan yet.” She flips her hand out at me, throwing her head back in an exaggerated gesture. Such a diva.
“Enlighten me, then.” I cross my arms over my chest, completely expecting something outlandish.
“Apparently, this guy throws parties every few months. Security is really lax.”
“That doesn't sound like how a rich guy would run things at all. Are you sure you're not talking about a party in the ghetto?” I tease her.
“Would you just shut up and listen to me for half a second.” Her temper flairs.
I know better than to say anything more, so I simply make a gesture like I'm zipping my lips, smiling all the while. There's a thin line between playing with Ethel and fighting with her. I learned that a long time ago when we first moved in together. Those days were horrible. I can handle her now though.
“Anyway.” She rolls her eyes, sighing out her discontent. It disappears just as quickly as it came on. “I figured that if we pretended to be strippers, we could get in easy-peasy.”
I arch an eyebrow, knowing I'm treading that line with my skepticism. “Me. Pretend to be a stripper.” That's a laugh. I'm the epitome of wholesome. Like, Catholic school girl wholesome, in a very literal sense. Before our parents met, I actually went to an all-female Catholic school. It wasn't until Ethel's father convinced my mom that I needed to learn how to survive the general populous that my mom finally switched me over to a normal public school. I was like such a fish out of water back then, and I honestly don't think I ever really socially adjusted. Maybe that's why I feel so awkward all the time. Oh well. It can't be changed now. All I know is that I took a lot of the values from Catholic school with me. I've only kissed one boy in my entire life, and I wouldn't even dream of having sex outside of wedlock. The idea of dressing up like a stripper just to get into some stupid party is preposterous to me.
“Come on, Sarah, it will be fun.” Ethel scoots closer to me on the bed. “Haven't you ever wanted to look sexy?”
“Nope. Never.” I shake my head. Sexy gives men the wrong impression. Sexy can get you into trouble.
“Ugh. You're so lame.” Frustration takes over the anger she was once displaying. She knows this is a losing battle. I won't budge.
“You have Lisa. You girls go have fun. You can tell me all about it afterward.” I try to calm her with a smile.
She stands, her body ridged. “You know what, you're never going to experience anything that life has to offer if you keep staying inside this little shell you've created for yourself.” She presses her fingertips together and draws them out and around, creating an invisible shell with her hands.
I'm perfectly fine with my shell, I want to say, but instead, I simply reply, “I know.” There's no point in arguing.
A vein in her neck bulges. Cruel words are sitting on her tongue. I wait for her to spit them at me, but thankfully, she just shakes her head and leaves, taking the tension in the room with her. I sigh, grateful that it's over. What a stupid thing to argue about. She should know by now that her and I are as different as night and day. The things she's interested in, I'm not, and that includes finding some man to shack up with.
I sit in silence for a moment, trying not to let the conversation get to me. It's difficult. She may only be my step-sister, but I still want her to like me. Maybe I should try harder. There has to be better ways than this though.
***
It's Saturday night, and I'm exhausted from a long day working at the coffee shop. Saving up to pay for college is hard. If I had known it was going to be this difficult, to take so long, I would have applied for more scholarships. Coulda, shoulda, woulda. It does no good to think of the past. I've made my own bed, slacked off too much in an attempt to be liked by the kids at school, to try to fit in. Wanting to fit in was a mistake. Now I'm struggling like the rest of them. Lessons learned in youth continue to haunt me as an adult. Now I have to rectify my mistakes. I try not to be unhappy about it, but it's hard sometimes.
I can hear heavy footsteps treading down the hall towards my room. It's Ethel. I don't even need to wonder what's coming next. No one walks that heavily in this house when they're angry but her. I turn my computer chair towards the door before she even has a chance to barge in on me unannounced.
“You're not going to believe this,” she growls, slamming my door behind herself. I can't help but wince. This is a ragefit that I have absolutely nothing to do with, but I'm about to feel the brunt of it.
“Tell me all about it.” I reach over and pat my bed, trying to be supp
ortive.
From what I can tell, Lisa and her must have gotten into a fight right before they were supposed to leave for the party. Ethel looks stunning in a short red dress that compliments her mocha skin. I love her skin. It's so dark and smooth and flawless. She's a gorgeous girl, and men generally flock after her, but she doesn't want anyone who doesn't have money, no matter how nice he is. I'm still not completely sure why she's like this. It's not like she grew up in the ghetto. It's not like her father never had money. He's a dentist, and he's always spoiled her. Maybe she's just used to it. Maybe she thinks that's the way all men should treat her.
“That bitch bailed on me at the last fucking minute,” she seethes, dropping herself heavily onto my bed and crossing her arms over her chest. I admire her nail polish. It matches the dress perfectly, as does her lipstick, heels, and ear rings. I've never seen a stripper look so high class.
“I'm sorry, Ethel.”
Her voice softens into sympathy, and she averts her eyes. “She's sick. She really wanted to make it. Got ready and everything. But then she started throwing up.”
“That's horrible.” I know where this is about to lead. She's trying to hide her anger and getting ready to start pouting in hopes that I'll join her. It's not happening. “You said the guy throws a party every few months. There's always next time.”
“Next time,” she huffs. “I don't think I can wait a few more months to get out of this hell hole.” She looks around my room as if it's a dump. Sometimes I wonder if she realizes how easy we actually have it. Probably not, if she's acting so childish.
“You've waited this long,” I sigh, trying not to show my disapproval at her attitude. It's hard though. Unlike her, my mother and I struggled for several years while her and my biological father were divorced. If it wasn't for my grandmother paying for my admission into Catholic school, that wouldn't have even happened.
“Sarah, you don't understand,” Ethel insists. “I went all out for this party. I bought this dress, and I even had business cards made for us.”
“Business cards?” I quirk an eyebrow.
“Yeah.” She digs in her purse and pulls out a billfold, opening it and extracting several business cards. She hands them over to me, and I look at the embossed front. It shows a picture of a girl hanging off of a pole with the words At Your Service Strippers.
I scowl as I read the fake name of the company. “Could you have picked anything filthier for a name?”
“Yeah, I could have,” the heat in her voice returns. “I could have picked Tits in Your Face or Naked Bitches.”
I roll my eyes, handing the cards back to her. “Well, I'm sorry this isn't going to happen for you.”
She takes the cards and puts them back in her billfold, trying desperately to temper her frustration at me. “It can still happen if you come with me.”
“I think you'd do better as a lone stripper.” It's both a suggestion and a mockery at the same time.
“Strippers don't show up alone, fool.” She glares at me.
“Maybe they do for rich guys.”
“I think there's a rule against it.” She scratches her head. “Safety in numbers, and all.”
“Don't know. Don't care. Not going.” I roll my chair back around to face my computer, indicating that the conversation is over.
“Are you seriously just going to sit here and play on your fucking computer all night?” She gestures to the screen. “There's a whole world out there, Sarah, and you're just letting it pass you by.”
“We're done,” my voice is measured.
I can feel her icy gaze on my backside. The tension in the room is getting thick, and I'm beginning to worry it might suffocate me. Hopefully, she'll leave soon.
“Please, Sarah,” she begs.
“No.” I'm unwavering.
“I've got a really cute dress you can wear,” her tone lifts, trying to convince me with kindness.
“Not interested.”
“I'll show you.” She stands up and leaves, matching my stubbornness. Now, more than ever, I wish there were locks on the doors. Her father removed them because Ethel kept locking her door and sneaking out of the house when we were younger. Even though we're adults now, he hasn't put the locks back on. Maybe I should ask, next time I think about it. That would stop her from barging into my room all the time.
Ethel returns several minutes later holding a baby blue dress on a hanger. I turn to look at it, and I feel a heaviness in my chest. She knows I love the dress. I've told her that every time I've seen her wear it. Secretly, I've always wanted to try it on, but Ethel is a real bitch when it comes to sharing clothes. The fact that she's presenting me with it speaks volumes about how much going to this party means to her.
“You'll look stunning in it,” she emphasizes the word stunning. “You can wear these too.” She lifts up a pair of matching heels.
Crap. This is the one and only time she'll ever offer to let me try the dress on, and if I put it on, it means that I'll be obligated to go. Backing out afterward will lead straight into a fight that might blow the roof off the house, and I really don't want that.
“I don't know.” I bite my bottom lip.
She knows I'm caving, and she pushes even harder. “Look. It's long enough to be modest. Besides, it's not like we're really going to be stripping. We're just going to use the cards to get in, and then we're going to hang out and have a good time. You don't even have to socialize if you want. You can find a corner to sulk in until it's time to leave.” The corner of her lip quirks up into a smirk.
“So you weren't really planning on stripping?” I ask, hopeful.
“Girl, I'll do what I have to do. That doesn't mean you've got to though. If someone asks us to strip, you can just pretend to get sick. I'll do all the work.” She gives me a confident nod. The idea of watching her strip makes me stomach turn. I wouldn't be able to hang for that. I just know it.
I give the dress a longing look. It's cute, with a knee-length skirt, cap sleeves, and white lace embroidery on top. Nothing that a stripper would wear. I want to try it on so badly.
“Come on, Sarah. It's just one night. You can help your sister out for one night.” She lays on the puppy eyes.
“Fine,” I sigh, caving. What did I just get myself into?
She squeals, absolutely delighted. “Yes! Oh, thank you. Thank you. Thanks you. You won't regret this. We're going to have the best night ever!”
How wrong she was.
CHAPTER TWO
I feel like a doll standing there in front of my closet mirror with Ethel fidgeting with the dress. It fits me like a glove. A well-tailored glove. I paired it with white stockings, flat ironed my hair, and did my make-up in neutral tones, despite Ethel's insistence that I wear smokey eyes and bright-red lipstick.
“You look like you're getting ready to go to church,” she grumbles at my reflection.
“I think it looks nice.” I smile at myself.
“Of course, you would.” She rolls her eyes. “I suppose it doesn't matter, as long as you go.”
“Be thankful I agreed.” I turn to remind her.
“I know, and I am. I just wish you'd at least change out of those granny panties you always wear. We're supposed to be sexy.”
“What does it matter? We're not actually going to strip.” I give her a skeptical look.
“Whatever. I was just trying to make you feel sexy. Come on.” She grabs my arm and practically drags me out of the bedroom.
When we get to the end of the hall, she places a manicured finger over her lips, shushing me before she looks around the corner to see if our parents are in the living room watching television. Oh great. Are we sneaking out too? I don't have time to object before she straightens herself and pulls me into the garage. The coast is clear. Smooth sailing so far.
We climb into her car, and she peels out of the driveway. I give her a look of disbelief as she curls her fingers tighter around the steering wheel, focusing on the road.
“A
re you not supposed to be going out or something?” I ask.
“You know how my dad is. Always so nosy.” She furrows her brows, probably thinking of past conversations.
We drive in silence the rest of the way. I spend half the time staring out the window at the passing houses and businesses, and the other half looking at my own reflection. I look so pale. That could be because of my nervousness. There's a pit in my stomach filled with butterflies that are moving around, anxiously waiting to take flight. It will happen the moment we pull up in front of the mansion. They only grow more restless the closer we get.
We pull into Crestwind, the neighborhood where all the rich people in the city live. The houses get larger the further into the neighborhood we go, grander and more spaced out, with vast lawns and immaculate landscaping. Finally, we reach a sprawl of curb-parked cars. We're here.
“Let me do all the talking,” Ethel says as she swings into a space between a Porsche and a Mercedes. As I look at the row of expensive cars in front of us, I wonder if we should create stripper names. Don't strippers usually use car makes for their stage names?
I want to ask, but some of the butterflies have taken flight and drifted up towards my throat, rendering me speechless. Nerves. They make me brain-dead. I'll have to rely on Ethel to get us through this. And if it fails . . . I can't help but wonder what the consequences will be.
“Come on.” Ethel opens her car door, motioning out with her head before she follows it.
I take a deep breath and step into the heat of summer. Ethel clicks the automatic door locks, and I look back at the car as we walk towards the house. In the line of expensive cars, hers seems only slightly out of place.