Page 183 of Poor Little Rich Girl


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“That’s a very generous offer.” I sling my bag over my shoulder. “But I don’t think I can fit in a job around my schoolwork and track team. I’ve got to go.”

“Shame, but I respect your choice. If you change your mind…” Nero nods, flashing me his used-car-salesman smile. “I’ll see you around, Eli.”

As I slide behind the steering wheel of the Porsche, an unsettling feeling clatters in my chest. I glance back at the house. Nero still stands in the foyer, his eyes fixed on me, that slick smile frozen on his face. His hand reaches inside his suit jacket, and when he sees me watching, he tugs on the lapel. I can’t be certain, but I’m positive I can see the grip of a pistol glint from the depths of his pinstripe suit.

A warning, or a threat…

I’m a mess of nerves by the time I drive the Porsche up the concrete tunnel of Malloy Manor. I’ve spent the last forty-five minutes driving in zigzags across the city, trying to lose the imaginary heavies I’ve convinced myself Nero sent after me.

I park up in the tunnel, checking over my shoulder even though I know no one followed me inside. My steps fall heavy as I clamber up the metal stairs into the garage. My heart clatters against my ribs. This is all so new to me, and it’s still difficult to be inside this house. With every step, the floor gives way beneath me and I fall deeper into my memories.

Malloy Manor is built on a foundation of sand and secrets.

My doubts fall away as Claudia throws open the garage door. She’s in my arms before I can drop my bags, that intoxicating scent of hers wrapping around me. I stumble into the hallway and we topple over on top of my bags in a tangle of laughter and limbs and lips. Kissing her makes me dizzy, my brain transforming to mush. And yet… as her tongue draws out all sorts of dark and volatile desires, I’m overcome with a certainty I haven’t felt in… well, ever.

I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Claudia pulls me to my feet and tosses one of my bags over her shoulder. She winces and sets it down again, her fingers tracing the wound in her abdomen as she rubs the one on her shoulder. “Fuck. I’m not used to being this weak.”

“You’re not weak.” I sling the bag over my shoulder. “I’ll just throw these up in my room and meet you back here.”

She glares at the sweeping marble staircase in the foyer as if it’s a bug to be crushed underfoot, but I notice her swipe her fingers through her hair – the same thing Noah does when he’s nervous. She grips the balustrade so hard her knuckles turn white. “If you’re sure you can manage.”

“You’re ridiculous.” I toss both bags over my shoulders and bolt up the staircase before she changes her mind and decides to follow me. Gizmo greets me on the top landing, circling my ankles as I drop our things in our new bedroom. I notice with a smile that my cheeky kitty has already stashed a handful of Queen Boudica’s toys under the bed. Gizmo crawls underneath and sits atop her pile of booty like a dragon guarding its hoard.

I snap my fingers and Gizmo launches herself at me, her claws digging into my flesh as she clambers up my body like a mountain climber. She snuggles into my shoulder, her purr a buzzsaw in my ear. She’s already at home here.

Claudia’s waiting for us at the bottom of the staircase, leaning heavily against the wall. Her icicle eyes light up when she sees Gizmo, who immediately leaps from my shoulder onto Claudia and tries to burrow into her hair.

My body burns with heat – a visceral reaction to seeing my girl and my cat laughing and playing together. I’m hard for Claudia, and yet… there’s still a boyish nervousness when she looks at me, this skittish sense that what we’ve built is fragile and either of us could fuck it up at any moment.

I think she worries that if she talks about what happened at Dad’s ranch, I’ll see the truth of who she is and run away.

I’ve seen the truth all right – I’ve seen the girl who’ll do anything to protect her family. Worlds apart from my father who surged ahead with scheme after crazy scheme, never once thinking about what he brought down on our heads. I never wanted those reality TV cameras in our house, and every time I have to sit across from him in that prison visiting room I die a little inside. But he’s still trying to push his appeal through and weasel out of paying his civil suits, ensuring he’ll drag out this hell for as long as possible until our family’s name is trampled to dust.

Claudia isn’t the only one with a legacy she’s trying to escape. The shitstain that is Walter Hart will follow me wherever I go.

I slide my arm around Claudia, pulling her close, breathing deep her lush scent to prove to myself this isn’t a dream. She leans heavily on me as we head down the wide hallway. Delicious smells waft from the kitchen.

“Noah’s cooking has improved…” I lift an eyebrow.

She shakes her head. “Noah burned one turkey and exploded the other. Gabriel ordered in food from some restaurant with lots of five-star reviews.”

“I never thought I’d say this, but today he is my hero.”

“Mine, too,” Claudia smiles.

“Meow,” adds Gizmo, her little nose raised high as she sniffs out the possibility of dinner.

Claudia pushes open the doors to the dining room. The long table has been set for seven, with silver candlesticks, gold-rimmed plates, and glittering crystal. Antony, Noah, and George are already seated, discussing Noah’s upcoming fight at the Colosseum. An individual hat shaped like a turkey sits at every place.

“George made these. Aren’t they ridiculous?” Claudia picks one up and puts it on her head.

Antony’s hat slides over his right eye. Somehow, the dude manages to make a paper turkey look sinister. I say a silent prayer of thanks that he’s on our side of this war, because he’s one scary motherfucker.

I slide into the seat beside Claudia and stare around the room. This is everything Malloy Manor never was – warm and content, filled with light and laughter. Gizmo leaps off Claudia’s shoulder and darts to the sideboard, where Queen Boudica is already devouring a stack of shredded turkey portioned into an elaborate silver cat bowl.

Around the table, this is family. We might not be related by blood, but our bonds run even deeper than that.

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