Oaths and Omissions (Monsters & Muses #3)(62)

I can fill in the blanks, and I’ve already made up my mind.

Preston Covington will not survive me.





29





Ignoring my brother’s glare is an art form I’ve perfected at this point in my life.

Unfortunately, it’s the only one.

Slapping my emergency credit card onto the boutique counter, I meet Cash’s thousand-yard stare head-on. “If you have something to say, spit it out. You’re being weird.”

Cash watches, rapt, as the cashier swipes the payment. Then he shakes his head, stepping out of the line again. “Did Dad finally give you your allowance back?”

“No.”

His eyebrows hitch. “So, who’s paying for this?”

“Uh, hello?” I take the black card as it’s returned, waving it around in his face. “Cold, shiny, hard plastic.”

A flat expression graces his features. “I know you’re referencing a movie, but I refuse to acknowledge which.”

“Mean Girls,” I say. “Palmer would’ve gotten that.”

“Yes, well, maybe next time I’ll invite him. I’m sure he’d be much more inclined to spend his lunch hour waiting while you tried on dresses that, I think, you’re never even going to wear.”

We pause at the glass doors of the building, and I frown. “Why won’t I wear them?”

“For starters, they look like Mama’s dresses. Either you’re missing her more than you claim, or you just wanted to blow some money.”

He’s not wrong, really. After the half confession I managed with Jonas yesterday and the make-out session that followed, my options of relief were limited. Since I haven’t really been keeping snacks, and I didn’t feel inspired to create anything, I figured a day in the city was a good alternative.

The problem with retail therapy and growing up with money, though, is that when I splurge, my purchases don’t typically serve a purpose. Like now, the dresses I’ve just bought are ones I don’t even like, with collars and floral patterns, while I’m wearing another of Jonas’s T-shirts.

This one has the fire-breathing Minotaur logo for The Flaming Chariot, and it’s tied up so the bottom rests beneath my breasts, and the lacy red corset I have on under is still plainly visible.

I could tell from the second we met up that it made Cash uncomfortable, possibly because he’s the only one aware of the nature of my arrangement. Or maybe because wearing someone’s clothes suggests you’re sleeping with them, and Cash has never been good at accepting me as a sexual being.

Either way, I’m ignoring his unease because I refuse to let it ruin my day trip to Boston.

“Do you realize what happens when people don’t pay their credit card bills?”

“I’m not destitute.” The cashier hoists my bags onto the counter, and I hook my fingers in the handles. “I did have some money of my own before Daddy excommunicated me, you know.”

A little nest egg put in my name when I was younger by Mama, who swore up and down that I’d need it one day.

Sometimes I wonder if she knew just how spectacularly our family would implode, like a volcano on the verge of eruption.

“And when you’ve spent it all on food and clothes you don’t need? What then?”

Pushing open the boutique door, we step out onto Washington Street, where crowds of people are gathered outside storefronts eating lunch and enjoying their afternoon.

Someone in the distance shouts my name, and I look down the row of metal patio tables to see a man in a Hawaiian shirt waving with one hand and a camera in the other.

“Lenny, baby! Long time no see! Can we get a statement from you?” He advances quickly, eyes bright and frenzied as he snaps pictures.

Unclenching my jaw, I plaster on a tight smile. “On what?”

“My sources say you’re no longer involved in the family business, and that your relationship with Jonas Wolfe has severed your connections with your parents. Take your pick.”

“My official statement is that’s all bullshit,” I say sweetly, knowing men like this get off on the light abuse, because they think it makes their invasions of privacy okay.

The man chuckles, getting extremely close even as we continue past him. He doubles back around, breaking into a sprint to catch up.

“Rumor has it that you’re not even really dating Jonas,” the man huffs. “Just using him for his money.”

“Do you realize my net worth probably dwarfs what he has in the bank?”

“Well, do you think you’ll get back with Preston, then? Someone in your tax bracket? Or do you think he’s done with you after your cheating scandal?”

My eye twitches and this time Cash’s palm comes down on my shoulder, squeezing me into his side. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger!”

We stop in front of an outlet store, and my brother yanks open the door. I pause, spinning around as the pap tries to follow us inside. “Maybe the messenger should try not being a dick.”

Shoulder-checking him as I turn around, I pull the glass closed as I enter the store after Cash. He motions over a security guard, letting him in on the situation, and the bald man takes up a spot at the entrance to ensure no trespassers make it in.