Page 6 of Gilt

Josie walks directly to the elevator at the end and the bag of muscles stationed in front of it. “I’m a guest of Monroe West.”

I refrain from gagging at that proclamation.

The private elevator only goes to one floor: the top. Despite that being the seventy-fifth floor, the car travels like lightning, giving me no time to steel myself before the doors slide open to deposit us in a massive entry hall. Because the gold elevator wasn’t extravagant enough, the entirety of the foyer–floor to ceiling–is polished black marble.

“It’s not too late to leave,” I point out as the sounds of the party begin to seep toward us.

“Take the chicken exit?” Josie arches her eyebrow.

“Fine, lead the way.” My gaze travels up the wall, and I catch sight of myself. It doesn’t look like me, thanks to Josie’s wardrobe choices. The girl trapped in the marble is older, put together, and sexy. Maybe it’s what I hope to be someday. Most days, I’m lucky to have all the pieces to my prep uniform clean.

“You cool?” Josie prompts, and I realize I’ve stopped in my tracks.

I tug at the hem of my dress and shrug. “I was just wondering if Nathaniel West read The Great Gatsby too many times because truly he’s compensating for something.”

“Not for his money,” Josie giggles.

The elevator door dings and I realize that in the time it’s taken me to get a hold of myself, it’s traveled back to the lobby and up again.

“Let’s go,” I urge her. There’s no telling who will be inside. We stand a much better chance of not getting kicked out if we don’t come face-to-face with one of Monroe’s minions. I was a Girl Scout. I know there’s safety in numbers.

But before we can reach the hallway, footsteps fall behind us. Instinctively, I look over my shoulder and catch sight of Nathaniel West. He’s the same age as my dad, but he’s obviously spent some money on looking younger. That or maybe stress and bitterness are prematurely aging my father. He studies us, a slight sneer creeping onto his lips. There’s no denying he’s good-looking, exactly the kind of guy Josie throws herself at. Square-jawed and broad-shouldered with salt and pepper hair and an expensive suit. But the look he gives me chills my blood, freezing me to the spot. He’s a predator, and he has me in his sights. One move, and I’ll be at his mercy. I want to run or hide. Instead, I can only shrink back, still locked in place, and hope his interest in me fades.

Because more than the casual interest he’s showing me, there’s something in his blue eyes that flickers darkly. It’s what holds me in place—this terrifying magnetizing force. Does he know who I am? Would he even care? If Monroe West walked into the pawn shop, I doubt my father would blink. He’d probably get a sick thrill out of buying whatever she offered because it meant a West was in his territory. No doubt Nathaniel would feel the same way, knowing that Jacob Southerly’s daughter had found herself in his home.

The men say nothing to us as they pass. Josie tugs at my elbow, urging me forward, but before we can follow Nathaniel into the house, one of his bodyguards steps in front of us. He extends his finger, pointing to the opposite hallway.

“The party is that way. This wing is closed to Miss West’s guests.”

He’s firm but not unkind as he speaks. I bite my lip and nod. It takes more than a fair amount of authority to shut me up. This guy has it in spades.

As soon as we’re out of earshot, I fall against a wall. “If Dad knew I was that close to Nathaniel West, he’d kill one of us.”

Josie nods, still struck dumb by the chance encounter.

I have to admit that after that, a swarm of Housers is a welcome sight. The party is already in full swing, and in typical Vegas fashion, there’s a train wreck everywhere we turn. It’s obvious we’re not the only ones who crashed or maybe Hugo invited all his favorite escorts. Judging from the scantily clad girls lounging around him, that might be the case. I guide Josie to the outskirts of the room, wanting to avoid him.

“Let’s get a drink!” I suggest. Maybe it will help wash the taste of self-loathing from my mouth.

Josie only nods.

“Hey, you okay?” I call over the crowd.

She nods again. That’s a no. Josie has always craved the attention of the Housers, something I can’t exactly fault her for. She’s had a lot less time getting kicked around by them. I, on the other hand, floated between the worlds. My dad’s business wasn’t exactly brag-worthy, but since all commerce in sin city operated in various shades of vice, that might have been a moot point. His rivalry with Nathaniel was what had destroyed any chance I had at belonging. My mother’s remarriage to a successful movie producer had nearly wiped that slate clean. When I started Belle Mère, I’d been given a shot at being part of the elite. Monroe, herself, wanted to French braid my hair. Until I started dating Jonas. When she stole him away, I lost my boyfriend and the few friends I thought I had outside of Josie and Becca. The accident just put the final nail in my reputation with the Housers and reduced my inner circle by one.

Josie’s never had a cent to her name, though. Knowing me was as close as she came to the in-crowd. She’s never had any way to draw attention.

However, she snagged that all-access pass, this is her chance to make a name for herself. I want to warn her against it, but how do you tell your best friend that her fantasy is actually a nightmare in the making.

You don’t. That’s why I came inside. Because if this is what Josie wants, I’ll be beside her.

That also means I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.

Until then, booze is definitely in order. I drag her through the living room to the bar.

“What will you have?” a kid playing bartender calls over the crowd.

“Two shots of whiskey.” I hold up my fingers for emphasis. He dribbles on the counter as he pours. He’s going to need a replacement soon. Knowing Monroe, she’ll call someone up from the casino to perform the honors. I hand one to Josie, and we down them swiftly.