Very Bad Billionaires (41 page)

CHAPTER 2

JOLIE - One Day Earlier

From the silent safety of the cab barreling down Fourth, I scanned the sidewalks, watching faceless men and women fly past us in a blurred haze. Our rickety apartment row seemed far behind us as the blocks rolled by, the scenery gradually changing and getting richer by the second.

At first the men and women were painted in lurid watercolors, bathed in the neon of the shady nightclubs we passed. Crescents of teeth glowed under the occasional black light as people met each other, smiling and laughing.

Then we rolled through trendy but still fashionably decrepit warehouse districts. Bearded men sheltered their dates under their plaid sleeves and hustled them toward the darkened doorways where lights pulsed from inside.

Eventually we turned onto Sheridan, commonly known as Millionaire’s Mile. The boulevard immediately widened, carefully landscaped with planters and ornate street signs. Men in suits squinted at the women and their shimmering, svelte silhouettes under the streetlamps as we slid by in the anonymous yellow taxi.

I watched them sizing each up warily. The scene was somehow cagier than the cheaper neighborhoods and probably for good reason. I figured that when you were rich, you probably had to be more careful who you took home. Anybody could be anybody, no matter how they appeared on the surface.

My mind seemed to slip in and out of focus. I tried to memorize a few faces here and there but they all just melted together. A whole world full of strangers was out there, and I was farther from home than ever.

A sharp knuckle dug into my side, pulling me from my daydream. I furrowed my brow hard and whipped around to face Rachel.

“Come on! I was just thinking...”

Rachel only chuckled softly, settling back into her seat. She seemed to brighten the dark interior of the cab with her presence alone. Her blonde hair shone brightly under each streetlight we passed, highlighting her classic features in flashes like a film star in slow motion.

The slight upturn of her nose, her full lips, and those sky blue eyes had carried her far, though she still had a home base in that squalid little rowhouse on Dunsbury. She said she liked to ride the fence between worlds: one foot in the ghetto, one foot in the penthouse. It gave her an air of mystery in both places.

“You’re gawking, Jolie. That’s not thinking.”

“I’m not,” I responded automatically, without even considering it. “It’s just pretty, you know? The lights. The people or whatever… I keep thinking I’m going to see someone I know.”

“Someone you know?” she repeated archly. “Really?”

“Well, I don’t know,” I muttered. “It’s just a feeling. It’s nothing.”

My voice trailed off weakly. Rachel crossed her arms under her bust, giving a little shake of her head.

“Listen, sweetie. They’re just people, just like us. Don’t sit there all wide-eyed and starstruck. You’re going to get us attention for all the wrong reasons. Act natural.”

I sat up taller, mimicking the raised jaw of some black-haired executive vixen who was striding along the sidewalk in pointy-toed heels so fast she was practically just a flicker.

“I am acting natural.”

Rachel made a scoffing noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh. “Yeah, okay. A natural
what
, is the question.”

“Ha ha ha,” I shot back, pouting.

She rolled her eyes and tugged fretfully at the bottom of my blouse riding up over a healthy swath of hip flesh.

“You’re lucky I even let you come along, looking like that. The goal is to fit in, see. It’s like a game: we slip in, we slip out. And look at you, you just… wore the wrong team’s uniform.” Another soft chuckle.

“I did not.” I sat up properly then, crossing my own arms. “I look fine. They’re
your
clothes, Rachel. I think I look pretty damn hot, thank you very much.”

Rachel rolled her eyes, flopping back into the seat dramatically, groaning. “They don’t even
match
, Jolie. The top isn’t you at all. Hiding your assets and drawing attention where you don’t want it drawn. You couldn’t have gotten it more wrong if you
tried.”

I looked down and held my arms out. The top was too tight, but I couldn’t help that. I’d picked the biggest one she had but I was still spilling out of the scooped neckline. The sleeves had a sheer flutter to them that I thought was pretty. And the skirt was just a short black wrap that didn’t even seem possible to get wrong. Was it the waistline? Pulling it back and smooth, I tried to tighten my belly and lose the roll of flesh that wanted to perch on top. I shook my head.

“Well… I don’t know,” I mumbled, feeling exposed and cringing hard. “Why don’t you just go then… I’ll just head back home.”

“Oh I don’t think so, little duck,” she said with a quick snap of her head. “You’re here to learn. I am here to teach. Just watch what I do and try not to get lost or attract too much attention, yes?”

I nodded.

“
Yes?
” she said again, needling me with an affectionate poke.

“Yes, fine,
yes…
whatever,” I agreed, sullen as a teenager.

She squinted at me for a moment longer as though calculating just how sincere I was. Her narrowed eyes flickered over my outfit once again and I could see the slight shake of her head.

“Well, all right,” she finally said, sighing. “That’s good enough I suppose. And after this, you will be able to buy your own clothes.”

“Mmm,” I sighed. That would be fun. I had a mental image of a closet just like hers, organized by color with sections for day and evening wear. Shoes for miles, in odd colors like electric blue and pumpkin. Odd colors are for people who have too many options, my aunt always said. But I would have more than one of everything. The nearness of that reality startled me as though it was just arm’s length away. I could practically reach out and touch it.

Rachel sat up, tapping vigorously at the back of the taxi driver's seat with her long, black-red manicure.

“Hey, stop up here. I want out. Here, here.”

The cab rolled to the curb and she pushed the fare to him and not a cent more. He glanced at the bills and then back at her. Most people tend to assume the best of a woman who looks as good as she did, so maybe he thought for a moment she'd just forgotten.

The dawning annoyance and confusion on his face made me wince as I scootched over the cracked back seat, and he stared me down as if I had any control over her. He clearly wanted me to tip. Well, maybe if I had a little money, I would have. All I could do was give an apologetic shrug before hopping out of the cab and into the chilly night.

I bit back a smirk as we collected ourselves on the sidewalk and the cab hissed away down the wet pavement, watching a shiver run through her. Matching or not, at least my clothes were almost warm enough. Her painted-on red mini-dress couldn't have been protecting her in the slightest.

Her head swiveled briefly left and right and then she set off at a confident stride toward the line of private clubs and restaurants at the end of the block. As I caught up to her, a quick glance confirmed my smug suspicion. Her nipples were standing out, prominent and hard through the blood red fabric. A cold breeze whipped her long blonde hair off her bare shoulders. She was clearly freezing, but it didn’t even seem to slow her down as she prowled, fast and purposeful along the sidewalk, stiletto heels ringing out like muffled gunshot.

My self-satisfaction turned sour quickly enough when I realized that this was probably exactly what she intended. She looked determined and hard, like she had been sculpted from ice. Most people would probably be afraid to talk to her, and those who did could be turned away with one frigid glance.

I glanced down at my own outfit, feeling more and more frumpy as we approached our destination and the line of people in suits and cocktail dresses. I wished desperately for another chance at picking an outfit again.

Well, what would you do differently, Jolie? Do you even know?

Setting my jaw, I tried to shove the thought out of my mind and finally caught up to Rachel. I matched her walk stride for stride, stretching my legs uncomfortably to keep up with her. She glanced down at me and gave me a tiny wrinkle of her nose in affirmation as I mimicked her march to the best of my ability, and a candle flicker of pride sparked in my chest.

CHAPTER 3

The line to get into the 712 Club stretched nearly another full block in the opposite direction. Men in suits ignored dude-bros in backward baseball caps who had no chance of getting in unless one of the magazine-perfect women decided to grace them with their attention. And that was definitely not going to happen. The women stood in groups of three with their backs turned out, arms crossed inward, breaking the formation only when the line inched forward.

Rachel didn't know what it was like to stand in a line. She cut to the front of the crowd, ignoring the frustrated sighs and disapproving glances. Her head dipped briefly toward the bouncer, a slicked-haired thug in a thousand dollar suit. One corner of his mouth twisted as her breath touched his ear and
presto
. He stepped aside to let us in, twitching his eyebrows at me once when I passed.

I heard a protesting cry go up among the ones who'd been waiting but shrugged it off and kept my head high. I'd gotten used to it in the few months I'd been with Rachel—she slid by without issue while everyone else struggled. Most people waited in line; she didn’t. Most people paid for every meal; she definitely didn’t. She seemed to have a tunnel through the ordinary fog of daily effort that was made just for her and acted like that was just the natural order of things. I wanted that for myself. I wanted her life, but I had a long way to go, according to her.

“What did you say to him?” I hissed discreetly as we passed through a plastered arch lit by pale-colored LEDs.

“Say to who?” she sighed vaguely.

“That guy? The bouncer?”

Her eyes swept the room and then careened around to me, focusing on my face as though she was a little surprised I was there.

“Ahhhm… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered distractedly. “Just follow me.”

I swallowed a sigh and pulled myself up. My skin prickled. The room seemed to have gone mute. Even in the dim light, I could see every head turning toward her as though we had just stumbled through the curtain and onto a theater stage. But she was the perfect actress for every stage. She carried herself with the poise and purpose of a supermodel, absolutely demanding their attention and commanding it once she had it. All I had to do was hover tight in her shadow, and I would be fine.

***

If not for the bar and most of its patrons being visibly thick with booze, I might have guessed it was some fancy restaurant. The walls were trimmed in rich cherry wood, the floor a similarly colored stone. LED televisions were embedded in the walls with the sound off and captions on, and techno music in French swirled unobtrusively from hidden speakers. The seating was typical enough: high stools and small tables. But there was something luxe about them that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Maybe they just
smelled
like money.

The crowd parted for Rachel as she made her way toward one near the center of the room, and I followed close. I suddenly felt as though every eye in the room wasn't on her. It was on
us
. It was on the supermodel and her weird, mismatched, out of place friend.

When we got to the table she whirled around on her heel, staring down at me.

“Stand up straight, look natural. Hunching over like that, trying to hide— you look like you're about to try to rob the place or something.”

I bit the inside of my cheek hard, wincing as the bright pain brought the room into focus. My hands tried to slide my handbag onto the tabletop and trembled, knocking my knuckles against the wood.

“Jesus, Jolie. Just... relax already. No big deal. We're just trying to get a few drinks and do a little shake and trade. Simple as can be, right?”

I nodded unconvincingly.

“I’m just a little chilly from outside.”

She sighed through her nose and I could feel her tolerance for me slipping away like water through my fingers. I flashed her a big smile and quirked an eyebrow, trying to mimic her best self-entitled-vixen pose.

“Yeah, okay,” she chuckled impatiently. “That’s pretty good, I guess. Just keep faking it til you make it, as they say. Feeling good?”

“Terrific,” I lied.

“Perfect. Well, I see you’re finally getting the hang of making an entrance.”

“I learned from the best,” I purred, swelling a little where I stood. As long as she was still smiling, I felt pretty okay.

“Yes, you did,” she nodded, giving me a starry wink. “And I think you’re ready to do real battle, yes?”

“Definitely.”

“Excellent. Your new assignment is to get someone to buy us a drink, and you're going to do it without saying a word. Get the drink, thank him with a little hair toss or something, then turn away. Don't want any creeps coming over. You're a pretty girl, so act like it.”

“Wait, what?” I said, the words coming out in a garbled choke. “No… wait, Rachel. You said this was your deal. I’m just here to observe…”

“You’re here to
learn
,” she asserted. “And from what I can see, half the men here have already scoped you out. There’s no better time.”

“Wh— really?” I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper. I tried to find evidence of men actually scoping me but couldn’t catch anyone’s eye. “Like who? Like that guy in the tie there?”

Her fingernails waved me off. “I didn’t take notes, Jolie. Now do what I say. Get us some drinks.”

I couldn't help but smile a little at her encouragement, odd as it was. She was really trying to help me out. I knew she always was, but she was being strangely nice and nurturing about it. I had asked her for weeks to take me to one of her meetings and she had always told me I wasn’t ready.

I slipped onto the high seat, sitting up a bit straighter, trying to mimic her confidence and body language. My eyes slowly swept the room, landing on faces and holding there for an extra beat to see what would happen. After a few men turned distractedly away, a fourth man held my gaze.

I followed her advice to the word, and it seemed to work beautifully. I just stared meaningfully at him, letting my mouth open into a wet, welcoming smile. Though the expression felt foreign and goofy, I didn’t cringe away from it like I wanted to. His head tipped to one side and then he jerked his chin at me in a bit of a reverse-nod, silently agreeing to the question I had put into the air between us.

Swiveling toward the barman, he broke our shared eyeline and I took that chance to turn completely in my seat. In moments, a small man in a tight white shirt and barred tie brought us matching martinis. He murmured that they were compliments of the gentleman at the bar.

“Do
not
turn around,” Rachel growled, cutting off my automatic response.

“Really? I want to say thank you, at least—”

She brought the glass to her lips and paused, one eyebrow arching supremely as she stared me down.

“Fine, fine,” I mumbled.

“It’s just a drink, Jolie.
Christ.
Drink it.”

Rachel always told me that I was my own worst enemy. Get a free drink, and I would act like I owed somebody a chunk of my life. That was my way. It drove her nuts.

Rachel’s way was simpler. Get a free drink: shut up and drink it, you don’t owe anyone anything. She didn’t have those pesky little voices in her ear telling her that what she was doing was wrong, that she should be ashamed, that she didn’t deserve this or that. Nonsense, she said. But she didn’t hold it against me, she said. What I thought were “manners” were just self-imposed shackles, but I would get over that. I just needed training up.

According to Rachel, she was just like me until she learned what was what. Living hand-to-mouth, scraping together a few bucks here and there and always trying to outrun the bridge on fire behind her until Gemma took her on and showed her the ropes.  That was when everything changed and she became who she is. And she told me she would do the same for me.

When I first saw her, she was sitting shoulder to shoulder with a guy in a liver colored jacket and amber-tinted eyeglasses. Everyone seemed to have their eye on her, but she only looked at him. Jeep. Or Joey. Or something.

He was supposed to be a dealer, or a thug or a genius, depending on who I asked. Possibly a former actor. In any case, he was the most captivating guy at the bar, and so she had laid claim to him immediately.

I watched them from a small table by the lone slot machine in the corner while I chewed the straw on my sixth diet cola. Free refills. It was getting late and every time the bartender made another circuit of the outer tables, I expected him to send me packing.

Finally he swerved my way, scowling. I stared at the fake woodgrain on the table top and attempted to disappear.

With one meaty, soot-colored paw he snatched the empty glass and my mangled straw and replaced it with something shorter, icy, and dark. I looked up at him in confusion.

“You’re wanted at the bar,” he said in a sullen growl.

I shook my head.

“I don’t know anybody here,” I replied, looping my fingers protectively through the handle of my backpack.

He scoffed. “Yeah, no shit, homeless girl,” he said as his jaw worked back and forth. “But she wants you.”

My eyes followed the gesture of his chin jerking over his shoulder and I saw her, staring at me. She smiled out of one corner of her mouth, and it was like she was calling to me. I could see her in utter focus like the overhead lights shone directly on her.

Jeep or Joey’s head tipped back so he could continue whispering in her ear. She didn’t seem to notice. She just stared at me until I realized I was supposed to do something. I was supposed to walk over to her. With one hand knotted in my backpack strap and one hand clutching the drink she’d sent, I slid off my barstool and walked across the room. That was three months ago.

I sipped the ice-cold, salty vodka and squinted at her now in her red minidress, trying to imagine her as anything less than luminous. What did she look like when Gemma found her, I wondered. Like me? Some dumb hick in a bus station bar?

“Tell me about Gemma,” I said with a smile.

Her attention was pinned far over my shoulder and she inhaled through her nostrils, flaring them regally. She glanced at me but didn’t really seem to see me.

“Who?”

“Gemma,” I said a little louder.

Her eyes narrowed under her perfectly shaped brows, her attention flung far away from me.

“Would you look at this,” she said in a low growl, cutting me off. I tracked her gaze to the wall and the center LED. A newscaster was reporting from a remote location outside the city. Police lights flashed red and blue in the background, illuminating the stubby grasses of a ditch alongside some farmer’s field.

“Another one?”

“God, yeah… Looks like it—”

I tried to read the captions on the screen as a few club patrons and waiters walked back and forth.

...found in this remote field by a group of teenage ATV enthusiasts…

...remains were strewn for a quarter...

...Granholm, who had been reported missing last week, was currently under indictment for...

I shuddered, trying not to imagine what the kids had found. That field was just like the hundreds of fields near my aunt’s farm. I could easily put myself in their place: riding a four-wheeler hard over the rutted, February fields with my friends, trying to get to a finger of woods or some privacy to drink or get high or get laid. Then maybe something catches your eye: a piece of fabric or a bit of hair. Maybe you think it’s roadkill…

I guess Rachel sensed my uneasiness. She heaved a heavy sigh that bordered on dramatic as she reached into her purse. Then she took my hand, holding it in hers and stroking the top with the other like she was comforting me. I could feel the little white pill pressed between our palms, and I knew just what she had in mind.

“You
have
to loosen up.”

“Oh, no… No, thank you.”

“Yes,” she insisted. “This'll make you someone worth talking to. Trust me, you need it.”

“No, it’s just… I mean I used to have a four-wheeler too. I was just thinking…”

“Yeah, it’s a terrible time to be a child molester,” she agreed archly.

“Oh, no… Well maybe he was and maybe he wasn’t—”

“Of
course
he was,” she snapped. “And now somebody did us all a favor. Case closed.”

“No that’s not how—”

“—and now
I
am going to do
you
a favor, Jolie.”

The objections curdled on my tongue. I didn’t want it, but I didn’t know what to do about it.

She’s doing you a favor, Jolie, and you’ve come this far. Just take it.