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Chapter Three
Kris’s irritation and inexplicable arousal from her encounter with Nate lingered throughout her retail therapy session on Rodeo Drive. By the time she arrived home, the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, but she still trembled with uncharacteristic agitation.
Forty-eight hours. She’d never waited that long for anything in her life, and the fact she’d offered Nate that much leeway when she could get any empty-headed pretty boy to take his place baffled her.
It was a job. She was an employer hiring an employee—a temporary one, at that. Why did Kris care who it was as long as they got the job done?
Her foul mood ratcheted up another notch when she saw the Stepmonster’s red Ferrari Spider parked in the ten-car garage. The Ferrari, along with Kris’s silver Mercedes convertible, was one of three cars Roger kept in L.A. for when he was in town.
The Carreras’ mansion in Beverly Hills was, like all their other properties, huge, and Kris had avoided the Stepmonster nine times out of ten so far. Even so, knowing the redhead roamed the estate at the same time as her put Kris’s teeth on edge.
She slammed her car door shut and entered the main building, bypassing the dome-ceilinged foyer, massive sunken living room, and gourmet kitchen on her way to her suite. Shopping bags from dozens of designer boutiques hung from her arms, but Kris was too consumed with thoughts of emerald eyes and whiskey drawls to take comfort in the weight of thousands of dollars’ worth of clothing and accessories.
She tried to shake the image of Nate out of her mind, but it clung to her consciousness like Saran Wrap.
Dammit.
Kris made it to the bottom of the staircase right as Gloria’s sickeningly sweet voice seeped into the air.
“How was work, darlin’?”
The exaggerated Southern accent caused the hairs on the back of Kris’s neck to prickle.
She straightened her shoulders, turned, and leveled the Stepmonster with a disinterested gaze.
Gloria wasn’t her stepmother yet, thank God, but Stepmonster-to-be didn’t roll off the tongue quite as smoothly.
Her father’s twenty-seven-year-old fiancée wore a green floral bikini top that showcased the best double-Ds money could buy and a sheer sarong that stopped mid-thigh. With her flame-colored hair, hourglass figure, and fluttering lashes, she resembled Jessica Rabbit, only she was even faker than the cartoon.
“I feel so bad for you, havin’ toworkall day.” Gloria’s glossy lips pushed out into a pout. “Must be so…tedious. But you know what your father said. You need to learn the value of money and hard work, darlin’. Can’t go fritterin’ away the family fortune on designer handbags and shoes.” She raised an eyebrow at Kris’s proliferation of shopping bags.
Fury simmered in Kris’s veins. Gloria was one to talk, given her addiction to Hermès and Louis Vuitton. She’d been a cocktail waitress scraping by on tips from lecherous men at a high-end bar before she’d landed her big fish: Roger Carrera, AKA Kris’s dad. In the eighteen months since she and Roger met, she’d transformed from an unsophisticated nobody who considered Target high-end to a designer snob who racked up monthly bills equivalent to the average American’s annual salary.
Still, Kris maintained her composure. She and Gloria were locked in a cold war, not a hot one. They fought their battles in the shadows, through subtle poisonous barbs and behind-the-scenes machinations. Whoever lost their cool first put themselves at a serious disadvantage.
“Thank you for your concern. I’m sure you’ve had enough experience with…hard work for both of us. But there’s no need to worry about me ‘fritterin’ away the family fortune. I plan to protect the Carerras’ money from anyone and anything that may threaten it.”
The real meaning behind her words hung in the air, clear as day.
Gloria was the threat, and Kris would annihilate her before the Stepmonster ever stepped foot on the wedding aisle.
Part of it was pure vindictiveness on Kris’s part. Her father had insisted she get a “real” job this summer and learn the value of money because Gloria had planted the idea in his head. Roger had been happy to provide Kris with as much money and freedom as she wanted—until the Stepmonster entered the picture.
Instead of arguing, Kris had agreed and convinced her father to land her a job as a summer assistant for Bobbi Rayden. She knew when to pick her battles, and if she was going to work like a plebeian, she might as well work at a glamorous job in L.A., where she could take advantage of the beaches and boutiques in her spare time, instead of pushing papers at her father’s company’s Seattle headquarters.
To her surprise and dismay, Gloria had offered to join her in California, framing it as an opportunity to bond with her future stepdaughter before the November nuptials. Roger, who was blind to Gloria and Kris’s mutual loathing and eager for them to get along, had jumped at the idea. Never mind the fact that Kris and Gloria wanted to bond as much as Kris wanted to drown in a sea of itchy polyester sweaters.
No, the Stepmonster had merely seized the opportunity to spend a summer in sunny SoCal instead of gloomy Seattle while Roger closed a major business deal in Manila. The deal had sucked up all of his attention the past few months, and he’d decided to stay in the Philippines until it was done instead of flying back and forth between Washington and Asia every few weeks.
“Oh, sweet darlin’. How naïve you are,” Gloria said softly. “To think you could protect anything from anyone. You grew up with a silver spoon in your mouth. You have no idea what it’s like, havin’ to fight for survival.”
Kris bared her teeth in a semblance of a smile. “Care to wager on that?”
“Oh, I don’t do wagers. Silly little things.” Gloria waved a dismissive hand in the air. Her massive ten-carat Cartier engagement ring flashed in the light, and a cold gleam of satisfaction entered her eyes when she saw Kris’s eye twitch with anger at the sight. “Besides,” she drawled. “You won’t have enough to wager with.”
The Stepmonster spun on her heels and strutted toward the pool, her hips swaying like a pendulum.
You won’t have enough to wager with.
