by Nova Raines
An employee in black slacks and a silk top rushes over to us. “Shall I add these to your others?”
“Thanks, yes.”
The woman looks at me and does a double take. She gives me a polite smile. “Welcome to LuxRy. Let us know if we can get you anything.” Then she walks off with Char’s dresses.
Char wraps me in a hug, then drags me to a rack along the wall and sighs theatrically. “I want them all. But Diane won’t increase my allowance.”
She looks at me expectantly. What does she want? Is she hoping I’ll offer to buy her extra dresses? She probably thinks I’ve inherited my dad’s money by now.
“I know how you feel,” I say.
She wrinkles her brow at me. “You still have an allowance? But—”
“It’s complicated.”
She waits for me to explain, but I lift a dress off the rack instead. “This is nice.”
“They all are. I guess there are other ways I can get more than one.”
She winks at me, and I wince. Char and I rarely talk about the shoplifting thing, but I’m pretty sure she kept stealing just like I did. I glance back at the cash register and see the woman who helped us standing against the wall, hands folded, waiting until we need her again.
“I don’t do that anymore.” I keep my voice low.
“I don’t do it anymore, either. Relax. I’m just kidding.”
“Well, it’s not really funny.”
Char frowns and looks uncomfortable. She wanders away from me, picking out more dresses. Stealing requires careful planning. I only got caught because I got careless. Sloppy. Now for ever and ever, people will find “Boutique Thief Hayley Wade” when they do a deep search on me and my past.
I pull down a gorgeous silky emerald green gown with a plunging neckline and slits to mid-thigh, and that old urge to steal is back.
I pretend to look at it while I case the boutique. If I did want to steal this gown, I’d start by choosing four to five in this size. Then I’d pick a lot more gowns. Twenty, maybe thirty. So many the dressing room girl would lose count of how many of each style I’d chosen, get confused as I tried them all on in the dressing room, handing them back a few at a time.
My heart’s pumping fast just thinking about it, and adrenaline floods my body, even though I’m not even really planning on stealing it.
I pull down a few more sizes in the emerald green gown, and the dressing room girl rushes over to me. “Can I take those for you?”
“Sure. Thank you so much. I love these clothes. I’ve never been here before.” I flash her a genuine smile, and she smiles back at me, wide, almost surprised that I’m bothering to talk to her.
“We opened a few months ago.”
“So, I’m going to a party tonight… I want something classy, yet… sexy. Any recommendations?”
The girl’s face lights up with pleasure. “Follow me.”
She leads me to another rack where she recommends a bunch of the most expensive dresses to me. This is the most important part—striking up a friendly conversation with the dressing room girl and the cashier. Lots of smiles and laughing from me. I don’t know why, but store employees seem trained to look for thieves who skulk in shadows, never make eye contact, and are stupid enough to steal right in the middle of the store.
Char gets a dressing room right next to mine, and the store clerk sets up all my dresses on a long rack outside my room. She pushes open a silk curtain revealing a large dressing room with a plush seat in the corner. “You can take five in at a time.”
“The blue ones, and the green. I’ll start with those.”
“Here you go,” she says, hanging them in the room for me.
“Thanks for your help.”
I close the silk curtain and stare at myself in the mirror. If I wanted to steal one of these dresses, I think I could get away with it today. And the thought makes my head buzz as another thrill courses through me.
If I wanted to follow this through to the end, I’d try the dresses on, get the tag off the one I want, get it into the leather hobo bag I’m carrying, and then buy something much, much cheaper, like maybe a pair of earrings in the front. That’s what seals the deal.
Once you’ve made friends with the store clerks and actually buy something, they don’t suspect you. And even if they do, they’ll feel uncomfortable calling security on you, in case they’re wrong.
I pull on the emerald gown first and step up to the mirror. My eyes are a vivid shade of green, even brighter with this dress on. My cheeks are flushed, and I’m high—high off even the idea of stealing. Shame floods me, dampening my excitement. Deceiving people. Stealing from them. I used to rationalize stealing from stores—they expect a certain amount of stolen stock. But even wanting to steal makes me a bad person. I’m never stealing again. Never. Even if I can do it without getting caught.
“You slut!” Char says, from the room next to mine.
“What?” I laugh and cast off the green dress to slide into my other favorite—a gorgeous blue clingy thing.
“Have you been online at all today?”
Uh-oh. The tone of her voice lets me know I’m probably not going to be happy to see whatever she’s trying to show me.
“ScandalLust,” is her one-word reply.
I pull my phone from my bag and bring up the site.
It’s right on the homepage.
SCANDAL! Playboy Kaidan Stone Arrives at LUSH with Hayley Wade… but Leaves with Peyton Mackenzie!
The home page images are low-quality cell phone shots of me and Kaidan—in the club, sitting on the couch in the Velvet Room. The next shot is of me, straddling Kaidan, my lips pressed to his. His hand is buried in my hair. My cheeks grow hot, and I wiggle, the ache back between my legs, remembering the feeling of him, how hard he was beneath his jeans.
And now everyone on the planet can see us.
The thought excites me, but for some reason I’m also shocked that it’s here, displayed like this. But what did I expect? The only surprise is it took more than an hour for someone to find a buyer for these craptastic low-res images.
The curtain to my dressing room opens, and I whirl. Char’s standing there, looking stunning in a red gown. She’s got her phone open to the same picture. She points one well-manicured finger at Kaidan and me. “That’s hot. You didn’t say he kissed you like that.”
I suppress a smile. “Yeah.” I look back at the headline, and my rush fades away. “Too bad he apparently left with Peyton.”
I move to the next image. It’s higher res, courtesy of some enterprising paparazzo. Kaidan’s exiting LUSH, stepping down off the curb, and Peyton’s hanging off his arm in her tight blue dress. He took her home and then called me for dinner the next morning? I feel the color drain from my face. What a jerk.
“Aww, Hay. He’s a playboy. The kind of guy you have to use right back.”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice empty.
“He did invite you to his party, so…”
I think of the coldness in his voice when I asked to attend. I have a feeling whatever he and I had together… maybe it’s over.
Charlotte turns, admiring herself in my dressing room mirror. “What are you going to do when you see him tonight?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But I promise I won’t be kissing him again.”
“Darn.” She makes a silly face. “I was enjoying living vicariously through you.”
“Is that the dress you’re getting?” I’m desperate to change the subject.
“Yeah, like it?” She twirls around, and the ruffles that run down the back of it move with her.
“It’s perfect on you.”
“Did you find a dress? You should get that one. You look hot in it.”
I look at myself in the mirror, then glance back down at my phone and cringe. The dress I’m wearing is the exact same shade as the dress Peyton had on at the club. It’s even cut the same, just longer. This dress is not an option.
“Nah. I’ve already
decided on this other one,” I say, pointing to the green one I’d dropped on the floor.
“We’ve only got four hours until this party. Let me see it!”
I try it on again, and Char claps. “Stunning. If Kaidan does drop you, he’s an idiot.”
I change back into my clothes, and as we head to the cashier, I try to forget the image of Peyton and Kaidan heading out of LUSH. Did he take her home? Are they back together now?
Why did Kaidan call me after leaving the club with Peyton? He’s a playboy, just like the tabloids say, and I’m not the kind of girl who lets boys play with her. I’d rather be alone than with someone like Kaidan.
The cashier rings me up, and now I really am broke. I need to focus. I’m going to this party for one reason, and one reason only. And that’s to find a way to get that diamond back from Serena Lynn.
It’s 6:30, and I’m in Char’s car, looking up more info about Serena Lynn. There’s not a lot to go on. She comes off like a sweet southern girl, but everyone has a pro face they show the public. What’s she really like? I wasn’t around when she was dating my dad, so I have no idea. Maybe I can appeal to any feelings she may have once had for him. If she had any. Maybe she’ll let me borrow the diamond to show to my lawyer. I wonder if that would fulfill my one condition.
My phone beeps. A text from Rowan.
Got your messages. Sorry, phone broke. At work. What have you gotten yourself into now? Call me in a few. Otherwise, will call you tomorrow morning.
Maybe I should have been more explicit in my messages about the threat. If he knew… If he knew, he’d what? Rowan only seems to care about himself these days. I’m on my own.
I glance over at Char. She’s fixing her makeup in her compact. I can’t call Rowan, anyway. Not here, and not during the party.
We’re driving along the highway, the beach on our left, condos on our right. The buildings thin out, with more and more space between them. Wrought iron gates mark the drives of each beach side mansion.
The driver reaches the Stone Mansion. Paps are parked all along the opposite side of the road, cameras out, aimed at the cars driving onto the Stone property. There will be tight security at something like this. The paps will have to get real creative to get a decent shot.
The driver takes us through security, and we head down the long driveway. Char and I peer through the windshield. Cars are lined up ahead of us, wrapping around an ornamental fountain in front of the Stone house. Tall windows line the length of it, and balconies with wrought iron bars lead out from the upper rooms. As our car inches closer to the entrance, I can see the ushers in their black and white uniforms, checking the guest list.
Two cars ahead of us, a couple gets out of their car. A tall, thin brunette in a red gown and a young man in a tux.
“Nolan Aries and his girlfriend. Some model, I can’t remember who.”
“And he is?” I ask, not really caring.
“An actor. Currently on Broadway, I think.”
And then it’s our turn to get out.
I step down from the SUV onto the brick drive and smooth out my dress.
“You look great,” Char says.
“Thanks. So do you.” And she does. If she wasn’t so short, she could be a runway model with her slim frame and high cheek bones.
My silky green gown is slim-fitting and goes down to my ankles, but the slits expose my legs, rich-bitch-style with a hint of scandal. Especially since the slits and the plunging neckline meant neither bra nor panties were an option tonight. My curled blond hair cascades down my back and over my shoulders. Despite what I paid for this gown, and the fact that I won’t have any money for food or rent soon, I feel great.
I say I don’t want this life, that I don’t belong here, but as the usher checks the guest list and approves our entry through the massive oak doors, I know I do. I want to solve this inheritance problem, and maybe… maybe I do want to stay here.
This party reminds me of dozens of the parties I’ve attended before, on the East Coast. Of course, those were hosted by old money families, where a daughter of a rock star could never quite be accepted. But tonight I’m in my element, regardless.
I throw my shoulders back, hold my small evening clutch in one hand, and walk with Char through the entryway.
We enter the foyer, and I’m standing on top of a large marble “S” inlaid in the floor. The ceiling rises above us, all glass windows and crystal chandeliers. This is all so familiar. It’s like a bigger version of my dad’s house. A table off to the left has been decorated with a gorgeous orchid flower arrangement that reminds me of my last trip to Hawaii. Eight years ago. With my dad, even if he did party hard the whole time. My good mood wilts a little.
Wide stairs curve down from both ends of the foyer, and my eyes land on a group of people who are heading down from upstairs. Mostly women, but then… Every muscle in my body tenses.
Kaidan’s with them. I’m staring, and I can’t stop. His gorgeous face, high cheekbones, strong jaw… He’s clean-shaven tonight and wearing a tux. He looks like he just stepped out of another era. One of the women on the stairs with him, a blonde, caresses his arm, and he offers her a smile and laughs at something she says.
My cheeks flush, and a surge of jealousy courses through me. I want him to look at me that way. I want it so bad it hurts. His gaze sweeps the foyer, and he meets my eyes. My lips part, but he looks at me like I’m a stranger. His expression hardens, and he averts his eyes.
Char grabs my hand. “What a dick. Screw him.”
She gestures toward the ballroom, and I force myself to focus on what she’s looking at, even though my body feels the pull of Kaidan, even across the huge foyer, like he’s some kind of magnet. Like I won’t ever feel right ‘til we’re next to each other.
Char squeezes my arm, and I follow her gaze. “Werewolf Chronicles,” she says in a quiet, singsong voice.
It’s Cole Hudson and Liam Hart, standing at the other end of the foyer with Jessa, about to enter the ballroom.
“I do not want to see that girl,” I say.
“Forget her,” she says, keeping her voice low. She smiles at me and then glances back at Cole and Liam. “We can both leave with goody bags tonight.”
I take a deep breath. I don’t want a goody bag. I want Kaidan. He appears in my peripheral vision, and I try not to look. That blonde is hanging onto him still, and they disappear through the ballroom right behind Char’s goody bags.
I hate the bitch on his arm right now. I want it to be me. I’m so jealous that it isn’t. “Let’s go find the bar.”
Music pumps through the speakers in the ballroom, and they’re playing a song by an act signed to Stone Records. The round tables in here are decorated with more orchids. I desperately seek the bar and find it at the edge of the ballroom. Char and I get our first drinks and then spend the next hour people-watching and snatching hors d’oeuvres off the silver trays going around.
I haven’t seen Calvin Stone or Serena Lynn, and I’m almost relieved about that.
I try not to look for Kaidan, but I glimpse him once, leaving the ballroom with the blonde and her friends. I don’t see him again after that, and my imagination insists on sending me images of what he might be doing with her in some quieter part of this mansion.
We’re nursing our second round of drinks when Bia and her friends walk into the ballroom, and Char brightens.
“I want to talk to her,” Char says.
Bia sits down at one of the tables, and her two friends head for the bar.
“Yeah. So? I don’t.”
“I do. Now’s a great time to remind her who I am,” she says, excited. She grabs my hand and drags me toward Bia. I shake her hand off and straighten my shoulders as we arrive. Bia’s got her phone out, and she looks up.
“Hey, Bia! Nice seeing you again,” Char says with a bright wave.
Bia stares at her blankly, and then her eyes come to rest on me, and they widen in recognition. “Hayley,” she says, poi
nting to me. “And…”
“Charlotte. Lamb. My mother is Diane Lamb?”
“Oh, okay,” Bia says, obviously not remembering Char at all from the club.
“This party is great, isn’t it?" Char asks.
“Your dad was Razor Wade, right?” Bia says. “So sorry.” She looks back down at her phone.
She doesn’t sound sorry, and she’s being rude to Char. I don’t think I like this girl. I don’t care who she is.
“Let’s hit the bar,” I say to Char.
“It’s fine. You go on. I want to catch up with B.”
Bia looks irritated. “When did we meet again?”
“The other night. VIP at LUSH? And I’m sure I’ve seen you around before that. I go to so many of these things, they just sort of run together.”
Bia perks up, like she’s decided maybe Char’s on her level enough to talk to.
I’ve had enough of this conversation. I want more alcohol running through my veins. That’ll make this entire experience better. I politely excuse myself and walk off.
I belong here, but I don’t. I’m the daughter of a rock star. I’m not the talent, I’m not even the one managing the talent. I just am. I felt like I was in my element earlier, but the truth is, I straddle two worlds, but belong in neither of them.
West Coast is new money. East Coast is old money. After eight years spent with trust fund babies from old money families, I get my dilemma. They never quite accepted me there, and I’ll never quite belong here.
Employees dressed in black and white work the bar, and there’s no line. I step up to the counter.
“Hayley Wade,” a deep voice says from my right. “What are you having?”
I look over, and it’s Ender Varrone, leaning on the bar, with some hard liquor over the rocks, and he’s looking at me like he wants to have me to drink next. At least someone appreciates.
He’s not wearing a tux, but he’s got on slacks and a dress shirt, and the shirt’s rolled up to expose the tattoos on his forearms. With his long, messy, black hair and piercings, he’s looking kind of homeless compared to everyone else in the room.