Page 33 of Revere: A Legacy Novel

Cara smiled. “Oh, Catherine, don’t you know? We only move forward once we’ve changed. Going backward is impossible because of growth. You can’t possibly be that girl again when you’re already who you are now.”

“Name?”

The bouncer of the new, yet extremely popular, nightclub barely looked up from his tablet. The line was at least two hundred people long. Catherine had simply walked past the waiting people with her sky-high Louboutin heels and black bodycon dress.

She didn’t wait at clubs.

She didn’t have to.

If the people at the front didn’t know her name, they definitely knew the people inside who called her there.

“Catherine Marcello,” she said.

The guy looked up, and his eyes skipped over her sly smile and perfectly done makeup. She had been to the club twice—once during it’s opening night a few weeks back, and then a week later when some of her other clients moved from one club to this one in between parties.

“Have a good evening,” the bouncer said.

He stepped to the side, and let Catherine pass without another word. She didn’t miss the way his gaze drifted over her ass, but she was used to that. Men always looked. They loved a beautiful woman, and felt it was their right to a free, cursory look.

As long as they didn’t touch, Catherine tolerated their stares.

Catherine tucked her diamond incrusted over-sized clutch close to her abdomen. She found that at clubs anything larger than a big clutch, and they demanded she hand over her bag at the front, or let them search it. They would allow her to take the cash, cards, or ID from it, of course, but not the entire bag.

That defeated Catherine’s purpose of being there to begin with. She needed her bag, as it had the substances inside that whoever called her in wanted to buy. She opted for oversized clutches to keep from having her bag confiscated.

Also, it was big enough to fit a small handgun inside. There were only a few clubs that Catherine worked in where they had metal detectors or searched bags. She knew every face at the door, and worked a bit of magic to get in without the trouble of having her bag searched.

She knew her game.

She played it well.

Catherine enjoyed clubs, for the most part. Sometimes she went for her own pleasure, but most times it was to work. When drugs and money came into play, she barely paid any attention to the music or atmosphere of the club. She had a purpose, and that was all that mattered.

She quickly headed across the main dance floor of the club. Since she didn’t drink even when she did party, she sidestepped the girl walking the floor with ready-made Jell-o shots. At the far west side of the club, winding metal stairs led up to a second level loft area where VIPs partied. The upstairs loft was a good quarter of the size of the downstairs.

“Catherine,” the bouncer—Marley—at the bottom of the stairs said. He stood in front of a red velvet rope, and like the man at the door, held a tablet in his hands. “Long time, no see.”

“It’s only been a few weeks,” she told him. “I haven’t been gone that long.”

“Well, whatever. You’ve got too pretty of a face to stay away that long. Give us something to look at, girl.”

Catherine laughed. “Get more of my people in here partying, and I will.”

He winked, and stepped to the side to let her pass as he undid the velvet rope.

Upstairs, Catherine found some of the most elite, young New York socialites. Sitting on red velvet-covered benches and matching couches, the twenty-somethings laughed and barely noticed she was watching the group. She counted their number—sixteen, like her main contact said. A celebrity defense lawyer’s son, and the guy’s fiancée. The daughter of a Wall Street wolf, and her flighty group of girls. Another son that had grown up on reality TV while his B-List celebrity parents showcased their hot mess of a life.

Kids that were already born millionaires.

Like Catherine.

Privileged.

Rich.

Demanding.

Spoiled.