Thorne Princess(109)

After all, she was fine.

I was fine.

So fine, in fact, that I decided to visit the bar again after my conversation with McAfee, to celebrate. McAfee had promised to connect me with Thorne’s former security firm to talk about potential clients for my cybersecurity venture.

One week turned into two.

Two into three.

Before I knew it, I’d clocked in a whole month.

At some point around the two-week mark, I stopped hitting the bars and started hitting the liquor store. No point in shooting the shit with bartenders or sidestepping horny housewives looking for dirty fucks while I got good and hammered.

One day, I looked at the calendar and realized I’d drunk myself numb for thirty days straight. I briefly considered throwing my own ass into rehab for a spell. But that would be the smart thing to do. The right thing to do.

I went cold turkey instead.

I threw all the bottles of whiskey and cognac into the trash. Doubled-down on the CrossFit. Cleaned up my act.

Sober, with a new haircut, and frequenting Tom’s Brady Bunch home for goddamn family dinners, I finally made it.

I stopped thinking about Hallie.

I stopped thinking about the day she told me to go fuck myself.

And started living my life.

It was really that simple.

See, asshole? You can do anything you put your mind to. You are, after all, Ransom Lockwood.





“Are we ever going to talk about him?” Keller peered at me from behind his kitchen wall, munching on a green nacho chip. Kale, probably.

“Who?” I didn’t look up from where I was sketching on the couch. Also known as my new bed for the past month, ever since I’d moved in after I kicked Ransom out, and never bothered to open any of the envelopes my parents sent containing new credit cards.

“Voldemort.”

“We do not speak his name.” I shuddered.

“Ransom, then.”

“Not talking about him, either.”

I was drawing a wounded heart strung together like a corset. The heart was melting, leaking from between the threads. I bit down my lower lip to suppress a moan of pain. His name alone made me want to cry.

“Oh, honey, it’s okay to not be okay.” Keller sat on the arm of the couch, stroking my hair.

“No, it’s not.” I stood up, waltzing over to my suitcase at the corner of his living room, flipping it open. In it, I’d stowed an envelope full of cash. Cash I’d saved from years ago. Dad always said it was good to have cash handy, and he wasn’t wrong. I needed it for when I paid for my occupational therapy as well as tutoring to help me manage my learning disabilities and dyslexia. Then there was Ilona. She didn’t come cheap, either.

I slipped the money out of the envelope, counting silently. Only a grand left there. Nothing more. Shit.

“I can lend you some money,” Keller’s voice offered from his spot on the couch.

“I don’t want your money; I want you to give me a job.”

I flipped the suitcase shut, stood up, and walked over to the kitchen to get a glass of water. We’d had this conversation countless times before. I was desperate to get a job at Main Squeeze. But Keller kept suggesting he should just give me money until I got back on my feet again. I couldn’t accept his offer. I didn’t want to be indebted to him—to anyone—and I didn’t know when my financial situation would improve.

Keller followed me to his kitchen. He had a one-bedroom apartment in West Hollywood. It was tiny, but impeccably designed. Gray upholstered sectionals and recliners made out of fine leather, Persian-style tufted rugs, faux fur throws, and abstract paintings he’d gotten for dirt cheap in Downtown L.A. on the Art Walk.

I filled myself a glass of tap water before turning around and leaning against his all-white kitchen counter.

“Honey, you know I would. In a heartbeat.” Keller squeezed my arms, his face full of remorse.

“What’s stopping you, then?” I demanded. “Why wouldn’t you give me a chance?”

“Well, it’s not a game, working for Main Squeeze.” He pretzeled uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ll have to wake up early for shifts, cut all the fruit and veggies at five in the morning…deal with impossible customers.”

“And you don’t trust me to do a good job?” I arched an eyebrow, feeling my eyelid twitch in annoyance.

He squirmed. “You’ve never held a job in your life, Hal.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“True.” He sighed, looking tortured. “But Main Squeeze is a really huge deal to me. It’s my bread and butter, and I cannot afford any hiccups. I don’t think you understand.” He closed his mouth, shaking his head. “Honey, I really don’t take a dime from my father. If this goes to hell, I won’t be able to pay my mortgage on this place. I won’t be able to pay the lease on my car. I don’t have a plan B. Or a plan C. It’s all I have. This small juicery. My dad is a deadbeat rock star who is in love with himself, his cocaine, and whatever girl is currently sucking his dick—not sure who it is this month, but she’s bound to be younger than me. I don’t have anything to fall back on. Mommy and Daddy Thorne won’t bail me out. And I love you!” he exclaimed passionately. “But…”