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Chapter 1
The chandelier overhead sparkles as I step into the absolute bougiest bar I’ve ever seen. Gold crowning decorates the ceiling with red velvet spread out on the floor as if we’re on some sort of red carpet. I almost laugh at the absurdity of it.
“Isn’t this place great?” Courtney asks, elbowing me gently.
My eyes still wide in surprise, I simply nod. Sure. Sure it’s great. If overpaying for drinks with a bunch of rich people is your idea of a good time. Which, for a Friday night in Seattle, isn’t the worst way to spend your time. I’m just already dreading seeing what my bank statement will be after buying one or two drinks here.
Besides, tonight we have something to celebrate, as Courtney had put it earlier. Although, even if we weren’t celebrating, I’m sure she still would have come up with some reason to go out. But I’m starting a new job tomorrow and that seems celebratory enough.
I’m actually excited for it. It’s a personal assistant job to the CEO of King Technologies, one of the biggest companies in the Seattle area. I still can’t quite believe I got it. And it’s paying more than my previous personal assistant jobs paid, so I’m thrilled. Money’s been tight, especially after—
“I had to pull so many strings to get us in here,” Courtney goes on, pulling me from my thoughts. “I’ve been wanting to come here for months!”
I chuckle. Courtney’s always got a scheme up her sleeve. We met in college, and back then she was always the one who knew of the best parties, the best ways to get booze, and the best clubs in town. She was a real riot, and probably the main reason my college years were so fun. And now, just a few years later, she’s still the life of the party.
Or, more accurately, the one who brings me to the parties. Because if it weren’t for her, sometimes I wonder if I’d ever have any fun at all.
“How much are the drinks gonna cost here, Courtney?” I ask her quietly with a little laugh. “I can probably barely afford half of one.”
She shoots me a look. “Olivia,” she says, drawing out the word as if it contains vastly more syllables. “You’re not going to be buying any drinks.”
I furrow my brows in confusion.
“That’s what all these rich men are here for.” She giggles, and before I have time to open my mouth and object to that worrisome statement, she grabs my hand and pulls me deeper into the bar. We make our way through the crowd of men dressed in suits and women in cocktail dresses.
I suddenly feel woefully underdressed in my simple, black, cotton dress. I’d bought it at TJ Maxx for about eighteen dollars. Glancing at just a few of the women here, I’d guess their dresses are hundreds of dollars. The kind of price tag I’d only be willing to spend if the dress was for a wedding or something.
Courtney blends in much better. Somehow, she always manages to look put together, effortless, and expensive. As if she belongs in these circles. Sometimes I wonder how much money she makes. It seems as if her job is always changing—and it’s always something weird too. She’ll brush off my inquiries, saying she’s in between jobs or starting some new, exciting opportunity. But then I never get any real answers.
Regardless, she’s managed to at least make it look like her life is the greatest compared to everyone around her. It’s part of what makes her so alluring.
There’s a dancefloor in the middle of the bar, and Courtney pulls us right into the middle of it, twirling me around and laughing. She sways her hips, and I already see a few guys glancing our way. Self-conscious, I simply bob to the music, not trying to draw an inordinate amount of attention. Most of it falls on Courtney anyway, so I manage to avoid most of the stares.
After a few minutes, though, my tension dissolves and I start having more fun. The kind of fun I’m used to having around Courtney—throwing caution to the wind and just enjoying myself. We dance to the music, spinning each other around from time to time and laughing. Soon, though, a couple guys end up sidling up to Courtney and dancing with her as well, and eventually she chooses one and dances with him.
I smirk, taking the opportunity to duck out of the dance floor and get a drink. I wade through the people and up to the bar. A line of glittering, probably expensive-as-hell liqueurs line glass shelves behind the bar, and a handful of bartenders, all dressed in black, are taking orders and making drinks.
I catch the eye of one of them, and he leans toward me. “A whiskey sour,” I request.
He nods and gets to making it.
I turn away from the bar and glance across the crowded room. Couples sway together on the dancefloor, and groups of friends chat and laugh at tables and couches scattered around the perimeter. I take the opportunity to people watch. Where else do I get the chance to observe Seattle’s elite?
The elite of the elite.
God, I must stick out like a sore thumb here.
I wonder if everyone can tell.
Look at that girl over there wearing an eighteen-dollar TJ Maxx dress and ordering a drink with the cheapest whiskey the bartender has to offer.
I smirk to myself. Whatever. It’s going to be a fun night regardless.
I hear the bartender calling my attention, and I turn around to grab my drink. “How much?” I ask, pulling out my purse.
“Twenty-two,” the bartender replies.
I almost laugh out loud. Jesus. I guess it’s a one-drink night for me.
