Children of Vice (Children of Vice #1)(17)

“By that definition, any government aid in America is also a cult.”

I sulked at him. “You’re definitely a lawyer, all right.”

They both smiled at my obvious loss and said nothing more. I closed my eyes for what I thought was only a second. The car came to a stop, and Mr. Barrow was calling me again.

“Ms. O’Davoren.”

I scowled, opening one eye.

“We’re here.” He nodded to his left.

Looking out the window, I saw the glass doors of a very fancy looking hotel. Sitting up, he stepped out of the passenger side, Thomas already standing outside. He didn’t open the door until Mr. Barrow made it to my side. Stepping out, the first thing I felt was the harsh wind, like ice pricking through me. Wrapping my arms around myself, I just watched as the valet took the keys of the Bentley in front of us and parked it near three Lamborghinis.

“Follow me. Don’t make eye contact with anyone,” Mr. Barrow stated, walking up the red carpet, and I did as he directed, but once we stepped into the warmth of the cream and gold marble lobby with a massive chandelier hanging above us, I couldn’t help but whisper.

“What are we doing here?”

He didn’t answer…so much for answering my questions.

I felt like a rat that had entered a five-star kitchen. People, not just any people, people who wore diamonds the size of doorknobs around their figures, stared at me confused as we walked toward the elevators. Mr. Barrow said nothing. He didn’t even look fazed as we waited for the elevator.

“Good morning.” A bellboy dressed in black and gold scared the shit out of me when the doors opened.

“What floor?” he asked, looking at Mr. Barrow when we entered, pretending not to notice me.

“Penthouse,” he replied, handing him a black card, which the bellboy used to swipe the reader before pushing the button.

“Thank you, sir.” The bellboy handed the card to him.

Mr. Barrow didn’t reply.

The ride was silent and fast. We went from the lobby all the way to the top in less than a few seconds, and when the doors opened, we came face-to-face with two men dressed in black suits, standing in front of the suite.

Mr. Barrow stepped out first and then moved for me to get off.

“Uh…enjoy your stay. Thank you for choosing the Troposphere Hotel,” the bellboy stammered, confused, but closed the door behind me once I was out.

The guards, both of whom were Asian, nodded at me before opening the double doors of the suite.

“This all screams shady—holy shit.” I gasped at the room—no, palace—which had the most stunning view of the city. Everything was gold. The chairs, the desk, even the lamp stands.

“Holy shit.” I turned as an Asian woman in a fitted burgundy skirt, diamond studded belt, and blue print blouse stepped inside from the patio. Her black hair was pulled back into an updo. There was not one blemish on her skin, like she was photoshopped in real life.

“Not the worst reaction my hotel has ever gotten.”

“Your hotel?” I repeated.

“Thank you, Avery. I’ll take it from here,” she said to him.

“No problem, Ms. Callahan.” He nodded at her and then at me. “Ms. O’Davoren, it was a pleasure.”

Just like that, before I could say anything, he walked out of the suite and I was trying to catch up. When I remembered what he’d said in the car.

“Ms. Callahan?” My head whipped back at her.

“Do I not look like a Callahan?” she asked, taking a seat in the throne-like chair, crossing her legs elegantly.

“No…I mean, not that...ugh. I’m sorry, do you mind letting me know what I’m doing here? I thought I was going to see Mrs. Callahan…well, the older Mrs. Callahan. Or…how many Ms. Or Mrs. Callahan’s are there?”

“We’ll get there. As for my grandmother.” She tilted her head to the side. “Do you really think you’re suited to meet her?”

The tone in her voice was sharp…and familiar.

Standing up straighter, I didn’t back down. “Yes. I’ve already met her—”

“Incorrect. Grandmother chose to see you because she is nice like that and overlooked your obvious flaws.”

Kind is hardly the word I’d use. “I’m sorry, what? Flaws? Just because I’m not all dolled up doesn’t mean—”

“Incorrect again,” she cut me off for the second time, glaring back. “How you present yourself now means everything…for you it is the only thing that matters. When my grandmother met you, you were no one. Now you are on your way to being someone. That means before she sees you again, you need to look the part and not like a starved teenager from 1985. Even I couldn’t bring myself to walk you here.”

“I’m sorry prison doesn’t come with a Bloomingdale’s card!”

“You’re forgiven, that’s why you were sent to me first.” She smiled even as I glared at her. “Now, would you sit so we can get started?”

“I’ll stand.”

“I wasn’t asking, Ivy.”

“Is everything all right, ma’am?” A maid, dressed in some of those ridiculous French outfits, came out of the bedroom.

The woman looked at me, waiting, and so I did as she said and sat on the couch.