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“Regardless, the answer is no to whatever you’re about to ask, Syd,” I warn.
“Don’t be like that,” she complains.
I cock an eyebrow. “What do you have up your sleeve?”
She scoots her chair closer to mine and brushes stands of her red hair behind her ears. “You’re not going to work today,” she tells me.
“This is LA and all, but since it’s only nine a.m., it’s not hot enough for you to suffer from heatstroke,” I retort.
“Seriously, Jules, you need to take the day off,” she volleys.
“I can’t,” I tell her.
“Yes, you can,” she argues.
“No, I can’t,” I insist. “It’s like I’m living with a ticking time bomb strapped to my chest. I have to work.”
Sydney places a hand over mine, her blue eyes filled with emotion. “I know the responsibility of your dad’s business falls squarely on your shoulders, and I also know Hillary is of no help other than to burn through money and further put you into debt.” I wince. My stomach is in knots over my stepmom’s over-the-top expenses. “That said, since your dad passed away eight months ago and ever since, you’ve been working yourself to the bone,” Syd continues. “Look at you,” she waves a finger at me. “You barely sleep, constantly forget to eat, no longer bother with makeup. You bite your nails from all the stress you’re under. And, I know for a fact you haven’t had a haircut in forever,” she pulls at my ridiculously long, blonde braid. “I’m all for a curtain of hair, but not this,” she waves a frantic finger this time. “You’re only twenty-three, Jules, your father wouldn’t want this life for you. I’m sure his heart is breaking up in Heaven.”
I don’t have a rebuttal because Sydney is right. I have given up on pretty much everything except for my father’s dream—aka his company.
My own heart constricts, the familiar ache lodging deep inside my soul. Losing one parent is tragic. Two? Well, there are no words to express the depth of that kind of sorrow.
“While the three wicked witches are off to their chichi star-studded ball,” Sydney continues, “you and me will be swimming smack dab in an ocean of sexy domineering studs.”
“Was that German?” I ask.
“No, that was English for I, Sydney Malone, am the luckiest bitch in LA because I was selected to receive this month’s vendor’s complimentary tickets for Mr. Gallagher’s theme party that’s taking place tonight!”
“Oh my God!” I shriek. “Seriously?”
Now she has my full attention.
She nods. “I wouldn’t lie about something that important,” she says, lifting her chin. “I received the text super early this morning and I could hardly contain my excitement. I jumped out of bed, drove to Mamá Carlota, and then drove here because I had to tell you in person.”
“It’s like winning at the lottery.”
“Pretty much,” she agrees. “We’ve been working for Mr. Gallagher for two years, and this is the first time I get selected. This is a big deal.”
“It is,” I echo.
“And you’re my plus one!”
Sydney and her brother Austin have a successful landscaping business. Larkin Gallagher is one of their best clients. Syd and Austin not only take care of the property surrounding Mr. Gallagher’s luxurious Quintus Hotel, they also take care of the property surrounding his other businesses. They even take care of his massive Malibu property and all the other opulent houses he owns and rents. One of the many perks of being one of Larkin Gallagher’s vendors is the monthly lottery-ticket style draw to enter a world of naughty pleasures. Dark Compulsion is an exclusive adult club annexed to the Quintus Hotel. Syd does all the floral arrangements for both the hotel and the kinky club. She swears sex lingers in the air hours after the action dies down. I must admit it sounds a bit illicit… and tempting.
“What about Austin?” I ask.
“He’s going away with his best friend for a weekend of manly outdoors activities. It’s just you and me, babe,” she grins.
I’m not going to lie. I’ve always been intrigued by this kinky club that flies under the radar where LA’s crème de la crème gets down and dirty. Alas, the sad, sad state of my finances wouldn’t even cover the taxes, let alone the hefty member’s fee. Even if I wasn’t on such shaky grounds, I still wouldn’t be able to justify parting with that kind of money.
“What’s the theme party tonight?” I ask.
She bumps her shoulder to mine. “So, you are interested.”
“Maybe.” I deflate.
“Right,” she shoots me a mocking side gaze.
