Crush(132)

“That’s true.”

“Last chance,” she said.

For one moment, I thought about backing out but I plastered a smile on my face instead. “I’m fine. Now let’s go have some fun.”

The door opened and a big black umbrella was held above it. I placed my hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “I’ll take a cab home, so don’t wait up for my call.”

Hugh had been our family’s driver since I was eight years old.

“Miss Phoebe,” he said in his heavy English accent. “You know your father insists I see to it that you make it home safely.”

With one foot out the door, I tried not to laugh at the irony that even from his jail cell, my father still felt the need to watch over me. “I promise I will.”

He shook his head with a heavy sigh, conceding quickly before an argument arose that he knew he’d never win.

I gave him a little squeeze before dropping my other foot to the ground. “Have a good night.”

As of that morning, Hugh’s duties had been transferred from our family’s personal driver, to a driver for the Saint Hotel. He’d still drive my mother as well, of course. Poppy had all but refused to cut back and I knew losing her driver wouldn’t sit well. Soon enough she would be feeling the repercussions of not doing as I had suggested. The Hamptons house went on the market last year and sold right away so that kept her bank account full over the past year. But with no money coming in from The Saint Corporation, I estimated within a year she’d have nothing left.

The trust fund I had access to was also almost empty. My grandfather had divided the money in half—I got the first half when I turned twenty-one and the second when I turn thirty-one, which was still five years away. Most of what I had was used for my father’s legal defense when all of his and my mother’s assets were frozen. I was surprised that my father dragged the proceedings out as long as he did. I knew he was guilty. Everyone knew he was guilty. He’d been charged once before though, when I was little, and had gotten off. I think that’s why he refused to plead guilty. But this time it cost him—no us—a fortune. And he wasn’t acquitted as he was over twenty years ago. I had never thought of my father as selfish, but I did now. After everything, in the end, to receive a lighter sentence, he finally did plead guilty.

By then the St. Claire fortune had been nearly depleted. My parents had been living beyond their means for years anyway, so it didn’t take much to empty them once their accounts had been released.

I had to turn the company around. If not we were not only going to be penniless, we would be homeless. My apartment was a rental, with a steep rent. My lease would be up next month and I planned to move out of the Park Avenue apartment my mother had insisted on when I went to grad school. But my mother would never leave her home on East Seventy-Sixth Street until she was forced to. And a small part of me didn’t want her to. It was my childhood home after all. But the reasonable side of me knew that even after the second mortgage was paid off, the five-story home would sell for enough that she’d never have to worry about money.

And then I wouldn’t have to worry about her.

The open velvet rope was only a few feet away but it seemed so much farther. I grabbed on to Lily’s arm to steady myself. I was feeling slightly tipsy from the wine and my mind was running in a million different directions.

My mother.

My father.

My job.

I took a deep breath.

The cool air felt good in my lungs. It helped to shift my mind away from my problems. I looked at Lily; she was worried about me, I could tell. But I knew I’d be fine. Today I was allowed to be down but tomorrow I would pick myself back up. Still, I wanted to ease her mind. With thoughts of the flick we had just watched, more specifically of the very hot, very sexy Captain America, slamming into my head, I decided to do something to convince Lily I was okay.

So I held my phone to my ear in mock conversation and spoke loud enough for her to hear. “Hello, Marvel Studios, I really want to play the Black Widow in the next Captain America movie.”

She looped her arm through mine and her dirty-sounding chuckle was loud. “Gorgeous, all legs, and sexy vixen with a husky voice—yeah I’d say that part works for you.”

Flashing a smile at the bouncer, I stopped. “We’re Danny Capshaw’s guests, Phoebe St. Claire and Lily Monroe.”

He glanced down at his clipboard and nodded for us to pass.

Danny belonged to some entertainment circuit that had come to the city last year, called Jet Set. It was the hottest new thing—membership not only allowed exclusive weekend access into some of the city’s hottest clubs, it was the only way to gain VIP status. It was brilliant. Nothing the rich and famous valued more than exclusivity. And they were more than willing to pay—a lot. Membership fees were ridiculously high.

The soles of my high heels clicked on the red and white checked floor, and as soon as we entered the club, my vision blurred as the pink walls coated everything in my sight with a slight blush. I looked over to Lily. “By the way, I was thinking more like a pistol-toting badass, but I’ll take sexpot.”

Right in front of a fifteen-foot Rorschach print by Andy Warhol, Lily snorted, “You’d have to remove the cobwebs from your vagina to even remotely gain that title.”

“It hasn’t been that long.”