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“I don’t need your help,” I tell her, “but if we’re going to be stuck together, we might as well work together.”
“I’m not your accessory!” she says hotly.
“Oh, you’ve got something better to do with your time?” I sneer at her. “As far as I can tell, you don’t do shit in your own family’s business, and you just fuck around taking classes at Loyola. What do you care about, besides sneaking into other people’s parties?”
She stares up at me, angry, and for once, silenced.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she says at last.
A weak retort, compared to her usual. I must have struck a nerve.
So I push her just a little further.
“I doubt you’d have anything useful to say, anyway.”
She’s almost quivering with anger. Aida has a temper—I really shouldn’t needle her like that, especially not in a public place where I’ve got more to lose from her flying off the handle than she does.
But at last she says, “I know you’re trying to goad me. I’ll tell you the answer anyway, only because it doesn’t matter, and you won’t be able to do it anyway. Madeline Breck cares about making money, end of story. She gets a chop out of a hundred different utility and construction deals. But if she’s passionate about anything, it’s cops shooting people. If you can convince her you’re actually going to do something about that, you might get her on board. But you can’t, cause then you’ll lose the support of the police union, and probably the firefighters, too.”
That’s . . . actually not the worst idea in the world. Aida is probably right. But she’s also right that it would be difficult to impress Madeline without pissing off the police union.
“That’s actually pretty smart,” I say.
“Oh, thank you!” she replies sarcastically. “I’m so honored.”
Then, right as she’s in the middle of rolling her eyes, Aida catches sight of someone coming toward us and she whips around like she’s going to be able to find somewhere to hide, despite the fact that this party is in our honor, and she’s dressed about as subtly as sunflower.
It’s Oliver Castle strolling over, hands stuffed in his pockets, a big stupid grin plastered across his face. I’ve known him since college, but I’ve never been a fan. He was a football star, and he’s obviously still been eating like one, despite the fact that he works at his father’s investment firm now. His big, beefy frame is just starting to get soft, though he still looks strong. He’s extra tan, probably from some recent trip that he’s sure to tell me all about.
But as he draws close, I see his attention is entirely fixed on Aida.
“I couldn’t believe it when I heard,” he says.
“Hey Ollie,” she says, turning around unenthusiastically.
Ollie?
“I’m hurt, Aida. You get engaged and you don’t even call to tell me?”
“Why would I call you?” she says flatly.
“I spent three months ignoring your messages and calls. When you’re trying to train a dog, you can’t give it a single treat, or it’ll keep barking and slobbering on you forever.”
I expect Oliver to be offended, but he just grins and sidles all the closer to Aida, so he’s towering over her. It’s pissing me off how close he’s standing, and how he hasn’t even acknowledged me yet.
“Now there’s the bite I love,” Oliver says. “Never change, Aida.”
“I didn’t know you two knew each other,” I say.
“Oh, we go way back,” Oliver drawls, still looking at Aida.
I step between the two of them, so I’m partially cutting off his view.
“Well, I guess we’ll be seeing you at the wedding, then,” I say, not bothering to hide the irritation in my voice.
“I guess so,” Oliver says, finally sparing me a glance. “Funny, I never pictured you two together. Aida’s so wild. I didn’t think she’d let one of the glitterati put a ring on her finger.”
“Just because you didn’t manage it, doesn’t mean no one else can,” I growl.
