Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
And I wouldn’t.
When Lilah got busted for stealing ten thousand dollars’ worth of clothes from an upscale boutique in Manhattan, and the media went crazy because she was married to a powerful businessman, I never left her side. I even got an assault charge when I shoved a paparazzi to the ground because he grabbed her on the boob to make her turn around so he could get a better picture of her tear-stained face. Of course, he dropped it when he found out who my father was.
When Angelica thought Edward was cheating on her, it was me who drove around the city with her, tailing his limousine when he was supposed to be busy working late. It was me who comforted her after we found him in the back of his limousine with two sex workers enjoying a delightful party for three. Now there’s something I can never unsee. And it was me who held her hand when the story broke in the media and she was hounded by bloodthirsty paparazzi chasing all the juicy details. They called her long suffering and clueless, and it humiliated her as well as broke her heart, but I was right there, at her side, supporting her. Even when she took him back and told me he’d changed.
And Jules. The scholarship kid who became my bestie. Her parents were dead and she lived with her mother’s family. They had no money but mine were loaded, so high school became so much more interesting and fun for her when we became BFFs. My money was her money. My trips to the French Riviera were her trips to the French Riviera. I shared everything with her. She got famous for being a New York it girl because of me, and she got to enjoy everything that came with it. And when she got herself twisted up in a scandalous love triangle with a very powerful and very married man, it was me who rode the terrifying roller coaster with her, ready at every turn to stand up for her.
She’s with a rich sugar daddy now, and even though he breaks her heart a lot, I’m always there for her when their relationship takes another dip, despite thinking she should kick his sorry ass to the curb.
But what’s the point of reminding them of my loyalty?
If it doesn’t matter now, then it never did.
I pick up my wine glass and drain it, fighting the tears stabbing at my eyes. Because it will be a cold day in hell before I cry in front of these bitches.
“Excuse me.” The server appears beside me. “But the card was declined.”
I look at him and frown. “What?”
“The card, it declined.”
A sick feeling crawls into my chest. “Well, try it again. There is plenty of money on it.”
My father left me forty-two million dollars in his will.
I might not have one goddamn person who cares about me, but I’m fucking rich.
The server looks uncomfortable. “I did, Miss Bamcorda. Three times in fact.”
I don’t have another credit card because Harrison says more than one card will get me into trouble, and because he takes care of my finances, I listen to him.
I glance at my friends. Lilah and Jules give one another an uncomfortable glance. While Angelica looks amused, clearly enjoying my humiliation. She’s always been able to make me feel small, and she’s loving seeing me hit rock bottom.
“There is obviously something wrong with your card machine,” I say, feeling the flush of humiliation crawl up my neck.
“There is no problem with the machine, ma’am.” The server looks even more uncomfortable. “Perhaps if we discuss this at the counter?”
“I agree. Let’s do that.” I stand, desperate for the floor to open up and swallow me.
Heat brushes my cheeks as I turn my back on my friends and follow the server through the crowded restaurant to a quieter area near the bar.
As he tries my card again, I nervously tap my manicured nail against the counter. My back tingles. I feel Lilah, Angelica, and Jules watching me from our table.
Don’t cry. Don’t give them the satisfaction.
I grab onto my anger to save me from my tears.
“This is ridiculous,” I huff. “I can certainly pay for lunch.”
The card machine beeps, declining my card again.
“That can’t be,” I gasp, digging into my bag for my phone. I bring up my accountant’s number. But the call rings out. I try it a second time, but again, there is no answer.
An odd sensation churns in my stomach.
Fear.
I begin to panic.
What do I do in this situation?
I look at the server for help, but he’s clearly pissed at my earlier reaction and isn’t interested in showing me any empathy. Can’t say I blame him. I can be a bitch when I’m cornered.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not sure what to do.”