OLIVIA
Not actually stabbing someone when you spend an entire meeting visualizing that exact thing is a sign of successful adulting. Now who wants to get
me another cup of coffee as my prize?
—Olivia’s Secret Thoughts
“Alittle early for champagne, isn’t it?” According to the alarm reminding me I need to get the hell out of here and over to our Vegas offices, it’s two p.m. But I swear this city has some kind of freaky time-warping powers, so who knows... I wobble as I slip my heel on while my ridiculously beautiful cousin finishes her flute, then rips a big old chunk of bread from the charcuterie tray and drags it through the burrata before popping it between her pristine pink lips. “Umm... Serena?”
Her eyes hold mine as she plucks a juicy strawberry from the tray, and honestly, the look she gives me could freeze a manin his tracks. I mean, it doesn’t work on me because I basically taught it to her, but she gets an A for effort. I was really hoping being out of town would lighten her up a little. “Are we eating our feelings today, carbie Barbie?”
“Whatever, bitchy Barbie.” Serena lobs a grape at my head, her perfectly arched strawberry-blonde brows lifting in defiance. We may sound mean to outsiders, but when sarcasm is your love language, mean is up for interpretation. And it’s seriously unfair the way this woman can devour carbs without ever gaining a single pound. “I’m contemplating drinking my feelings, which means I need carbs to soak up all the alcohol therapy, thank you very much.”
Okay, then.
I guess if I were her, I would be too.
Not that she wants to talk about it.
Instead of pushing harder, I choose love over violence. Not a choice I make often, but Serena is one of the few people who gets this version of me. “Whatever you say.”
“What time is your meeting?” She glances at her phone, then flips it face down on the table and shoves it away. “Better question. What time will you be back? No one knows us here, and I definitely need to get drunk tonight.”
Oh, fuck me.
I grab the half-empty bottle of Cristal, the one she’s drunk by herself, and snicker when she pouts. “In what world do you think they don’t know you here?”
Serena Kingston is the kind of heiress who couldn’t fly under the radar if the damn radar was nonexistent. She walks into a room, and all heads turn. She’s smart and beautiful and athletic and selfless and far kinder than I am... and at this rate, she’s going to be slurring her words by the time I get back.
“In a world where we’re half a country away from Kroydon Hills and all its residents. Now give me my champagne, go toyour stupid partners’ meeting, and get back here so I can get drunk without having to defend myself to anyone tomorrow.” She grabs the bottle from my hands and refills her glass, then legitimately shoos me away like I’m a bug.
I guess I should be grateful she’s not just drinking straight from the bottle.
Maybe she’s saving that for after I leave.
“You’re going to feel like hell tomorrow,” I warn while I make sure everything I need is in my bag.
“Yeah, well... you’re going to wake up a partner in your firm tomorrow. So we can act like we’re both celebrating tonight.” Her voice cracks on the last few words, and my heart breaks for my cousin.
“Serena . . . Have you talked to?—”
Her blue eyes flame wild as she clenches her jaw. “We are not speaking his name.”
“How old are we?” I groan, then throw my hands up in defense when she growls like her feral bulldog. “Forget I asked. I’ll be back in a few hours. Try to stay sober enough to leave the room when I get back, okay?”
She smiles as she lifts a shoulder, forcing the skinny strap of her dress back in place. “Whatever you say, Liv.”
This is so not going to end well.
Tristan Mulland is an odd man. He’s gorgeous in a silver-fox, daddy-issues kind of way. Not that I have those, thank God. Mommy issues maybe. But seriously, you would too if your mother was Scarlet Kingston-St. James.Anyhoo, back to Tristan... He’s hot, unbelievably confident, and yet somehow still manages to be awkward asfuck. He also happens to be the senior managing partner of Mulland, Exeter & Associates Sports Agency, my direct manager, and maybe my mentor. Jury is still out on that though, because he’s also the same man who’s been dangling the carrot of partner in front of my face for the past two years, swearing I’d be the youngest partner in firm history, which is unfortunately not saying much, considering Tristan, his brother, Cameron, and their partner, Peter Exeter, are all twice my age.
This man holds my future in the palm of his overly tanned hand, and I want it.Badly.
Partner is the next goal in a long list of goals I’d like to make my bitch this year.
Technically, I’m what you’d call an overachiever.
Graduate from college summa cum laude in three years—check.
