And that’s exactly what I’ve turned into—a mean girl.
I should hate it. I’ve turned into the vile version of my dead sister, and honestly, I don’t know what that says about me and my head space. I should be disgusted with who I’ve turned into, but if I’m being honest, I haven’t felt anything in a long time. I’ve been numb, coasting by without emotion. All until I saw the photograph Kat and Vera are still fawning over.
Katherine Van Der Pont is the daughter of a mogul. We met at an event I was working. She was an attendee while I was catering on the side, barely making ends meet. I had just gotten off my shift and was changing in the restroom when she ran into me. She thought I was another guest and struck up a conversation. The rest is pretty much history.
Vera Caspian is the heir to a family that owns a shit ton of land with oil. I met her a few years ago through Kat. The two have been besties for a while now, and I guess I was the final piece needed to complete their trio. Instead of telling them the truth about my family and me, I gave them some half-assed sob story—my sister died when I was younger, my parents cut me off financially years ago, and we no longer have any contact. That’s it. The fraudulent story of Mackenzie Wright.
I never felt the need to elaborate. We’re thousands of miles from that previous life, so there’s no way they’d ever find out the truth. The girls don’t need to know how broke I really am, where I really come from, or what I had to overcome in the past.
The girls think I work so many jobs because I’m trying to spite my rich family, but in actuality, I’m just trying to survive and scrape together a living. They have no idea. They offer help whenever they know I’m penny-pinching just to stay afloat, but for the most part, I try not to take the handouts from them. It’s not like I deserve them.
I’m a liar and a fake. That’s the sad truth.
“Worried about your deadline?” Katherine asks, referring to one of my many jobs. I force a fake smile.
“Yeah. I guess I’m just a little worried I won’t make it in time.”
She scoffs. “Oh stop, you’re a brilliant writer, and you’re insanely talented. They’ll love whatever you give them.”
If she only knew.
She’s merely being a good friend, trying to shower me with praise. They’ve never read a word of what I’ve written. I’d imagine not many have.
My friends think I’m a freelance writer, which I am, but what they don’t know is, I’ve been a struggling writer on the side as well. I take the freelance jobs for extra cash since it’s my only means to survive, but what I’m really focused on is my writing career. I’ve been working on the same project for six years, but I’ve been stuck in the middle without enough information on where to go with it.
My gaze drifts toward the photo in the gossip rag again, and a plan starts to take shape in my head. Feelings I’ve buried rapidly claw to the surface, demanding to be handled.
I think I’ve just found the answers for the project I’ve been working on.
“This looks fun. We should definitely go to this opening.” I find myself saying, my eyes still glued to the photo of Trent Ainsworth with his arms slung around two other guys. Going by their bone structure, I’d say it’s Zach Covington and Vincent Hawthorne. The only two devils missing from the photo are Marcus Whitehorn and Sebastian Pierce.
For the fifth time, my eyes scale over the caption above the photo:
The Hollywood Scoop—SoCal’s biggest playboys are at it again. Three of the infamous five were spotted out on Tuesday night promoting the grand opening of their new, exclusive club in West Hollywood, fit for the elite—The Kings. The guest list is already a mile long filled with your favorite A-list celebrities, guaranteeing the club’s opening to be a success.
Absentmindedly, I rub the pad of my finger over my lips, processing. We can get a flight out of New York to LA with no issues—Vera and Kat are party girls down to their core. They wouldn’t miss an exclusive club opening like this for the world.
“You’re serious? You, of all people, are willing to fly to LA for this? What about your deadline and your PA job at the firm?”
One of my part-time jobs is as an assistant for the marketing director at MainCorp Marketing. It’s a shitty job, but it helps pay the bills. All it costs is my dignity. I don’t usually mind grunt work, but when your boss is an asshole who gifts you with impossible tasks—like picking up dry cleaning, buying coffee and all his other meals throughout the day, oh, yeah, and buying his condoms that I’m one hundred percent certain he isn’t using with his wife—that’s always a fun time.
I shrug my shoulders noncommittally at Vera and nod. “It might be a good distraction from work. I’ve never taken a day off, so it’s not like they can tell me no.”
Kat squeals and pulls me into an air-restricting hug. “Yes! IloveyouIloveyou! I’ll book our flights and set up an appointment with Genevieve for Brazilians. We are going to be the hottest in that club come opening night. Those men won’t be able to keep their eyes off us. Who knows, maybe one of us will even bag one of the millionaires who own the club.” She waggles her brows suggestively.
I smile. A real, genuine smile.
That’s the plan.
I study my reflection in the floor-length mirror in my suite. I can’t get over how different I look. Two days ago, after Kat made sure our bodies were waxed and plucked free of almost all hair, I decided it was time for a change. It wasn’t so much a spur-of-the-moment decision, though. It was something else entirely. I wanted to be a new person. I didn’t want to head back to the West Coast feeling like the same sandy blond, hazel-eyed Mackenzie Wright. Even though I was no longer that girl from high school, I couldn’t help but feel that being near the Savages again would change things. I had to make myself unrecognizable to keep the upper hand, and as I stare in the mirror, I think I’ve accomplished that.
Picking up a strand of my hair that has been dyed jet black and straightened down my back, I have to admit, the hair was a difficult change. Seeing my blond smudged away with black was like watching a piece of me die, and my alter ego emerge. It’ll definitely take some getting used to, but as I rake my gaze over myself for the first time, I can’t help but feel…different. Seductive. The fire engine red wrap dress hugs my curves to perfection and fits damn near like a glove. All the running in the world couldn’t get rid of my backside, so years ago, I decided to embrace it. I switched out the horde of cardio in place for Pilates and weightlifting. Now, my backside is something I’m proud of.
I look dangerous—like a vixen. A sexy, dangerous vixen getting restitution for her sister.
My cell vibrates on the end table. Snapping my gaze away from my reflection, I glance at the message on the brightly lit screen.
Kat: Once you’re ready, the concierge will be waiting with a Town Car. Courtesy of my dad. Kisses.
I roll my eyes. Kat’s father, the mogul, has always worked at his daughter’s beck and call. Vera and Kat are staying at Kat’s family vacation home, but I opted for some privacy because I didn’t want to be a burden. I also wanted time to gather my wits before insinuating myself in the lives of the elite once again. Kat wasn’t happy at the thought of me staying at some random hotel alone, so she had her daddio pull some strings. Instead of staying at a cheap, decent hotel like I intended to, Kat’s father got me a room at the Kings Resort and Spa. It’s as pretentious and snobby as it sounds, but it’s also incredibly beautiful. My suite is otherworldly, and the staff here has been absolutely incredible. For the first time, I feel like a princess. That’s how everyone treats you in a hotel like this. Now I see why people dish out so much money for five-star hotels—because the Kings Resort? It’s more like a hundred-star hotel.