Tucking my left hand in my pocket, I reach and snag a glass of champagne off the caterer’s tray as he walks by. No one cares that I’m seventeen and drinking. I do what I want. Sipping the bubbly, I see the one woman that never gives me the time of day.
Heather Thomas.
She has beautiful brown hair that is cascading down in luscious waves but clipped all to one side, sliding down her shoulder. She has long legs and a dress that doesn’t do her figure justice. She has an hourglass shape and tits I want to lose myself in, but that isn’t the main thing that draws me in. It’s her smile, her grit, her take-no-shit attitude.
Every time she sees me, she hates me, and I think she hates me because I made out with her sister a year ago. Grace and I decided to remain friends instead because we agreed kissing each other was like kissing a brother or a sister. Might be because while I kissed her, I thought of Heather.
I always think about Heather, with every woman I’ve ever been with, and she’s smart enough to stay away from me.
I have dirty whore blood in my veins, after all. I’m not good enough for a woman like Heather. She tosses her head back at Jake, the son of David Lossareu, a billionaire who invented some app I don’t give a shit about.
He stares at her like he wants to eat her, and it pisses me off. He reaches up and slides his hand down her toned, tan arm, and I grit my teeth, toss my drink back, and begin to look for Grace. She has to be here somewhere, and I haven’t seen her in a few months since Dad tossed me in a different private school.
I am not meant for this life.
Being a part of the rich and famous isn’t so bad, but being a part of an emotionless life sucks.
There is a string quartet playing in the corner, playing a beautiful song that no one is dancing to. I make my way around the room, starting near the wall, smiling at who I need to smile at as I look for Grace. Heather and I lock eyes, and the look of pure hate she gives me has my stomach turning. She’s the only one I wish saw through the mask I wear for everyone else. I’m not a bad guy. I don’t treat women poorly even though with my parents' track record, I should be just like them, but I’m not.
Her eyes roam my body, and I puff out my chest, then run my fingers through my dirty blonde hair. She watches me as I work my way around the room and her stare almost has my foot catching behind the other. She’s the only woman that I know of that can take my confidence and flip it upside down.
And I have barely spoken five words to her since I’ve known her.
The marble swirling staircase comes to view, and I glance down to make sure I don’t miss a step. As I ascend, everyone on the lower floor reminds me of a heard of sheep doing what money tells them to do. Heather’s eyes meet mine again, and I pause on the staircase, locked in the beautiful gaze of a woman I know I’ll never have the pleasure of knowing. At least, not in the way I want. I pretend the smooth banister is the silk flesh of her leg. I take my time climbing the steps as my teenage imagination holds on tight and has blood rushing south.
When I get to the top of the stairs, the hairs on my arms fall, and I know her attention is on someone else. Before I can get too involved in my feelings, I see Grace’s friend, Jennifer, talking to Zach, the star quarterback, who isn’t really talented because daddy pays for everything.
When she sees me, she smiles, and I lift my chin as I make my way to her. “Hey, Jenn, have you seen Grace?”
Jennifer’s red hair is up in a pretty twist, and her lipstick matches the flame of the perfectly placed strands. There’s a silver clip laced with real diamonds and sapphires in her hair, and she is wearing a diamond neckless with a huge sapphire that reminds me of the gem the lady wore in the Titanic. Her father owns a chain of fancy restaurants along the West Coast and is a major contributor to my dad’s campaign. They have been friends since high school, and I think they expect me and Jennifer to get married, but I’d rather cut off my own foot than be with a hyena like Jennifer.
She’s pretty, but she’s fucking vicious.
“She went to powder her nose a few minutes ago, but I haven’t seen her come out of the restroom,” Jennifer says.
“Asher,” Zach greets me with repulsion.
“Zach,” I say with the same apprehension. He has his hand lying against the wall above Jennifer’s head, and she is leaning her back against it, clearly enjoying his presence.
I don’t know why. He has nothing to offer her.
I place a kiss on her temple, smelling the ungodly amount of hairspray and try no sneeze. “Thanks, Jenn. Have fun tonight.” I lower my voice to a whisper, “You can do better than this guy.”
“I know,” she giggles. “But he is fun.”
I roll my eyes and walk down the corridor, passing paintings and self-portraits of snooty rich people. My parents and I have one over our fireplace, and it is the most pretentious thing I’ve ever seen.
Walking under a chandelier, my Italian leather shoes echo with every step I take. I lift my fist and knock on the door to the restroom. “Grace? You there?” I wait for her to answer, but it’s quiet. I try the knob and it’s unlocked; risking seeing her with her panties down, I open the door but find the space empty. “Huh,” I say just as a door closes behind me in the background. I turn around, but all I see is a guy I don’t recognize from behind. He has brown hair, but I can’t see his face since he is walking away from me.
More like running away.
Curious, I stroll to the door he just ran out of, and when I get to the room, my instincts scream at me that something bad happened because there is a smear of red on the door. It could be many things. Maybe it’s red wine.
My gut says it isn’t.
I open the door, and the room is encased in darkness. “Hello? Is someone in here? Are you okay?” I enter, allowing the light to illuminate the bedroom. There is a four-post bed in the middle and a fireplace off to the side. I hear a moan coming from the bed, but it’s neatly made, and no one laying on it. “Hello?” I call out again.
Another groan sounds from the corner, and with trepidation, I grab the post of the bed and inch my way around, pausing when I see a lone figure on the floor, wheezing, bloody, and scratched to hell. Her dress is ripped, and one of her shoes is off, lying next to her head. The heel of her stiletto is covered in blood, and it’s obvious the guy that left like hell was nipping at his heels was the guy who did this.
I flip on the light and gasp when I recognize the woman. “Grace!” I squat and reach out for her, afraid to touch because she seems to be bleeding everywhere. “Oh my god, Grace, can you hear me?” I unbutton my blazer and shrug it off, then blanket it over her to cover her up. “Who did this? Grace, can you hear me?”
She shakes, turning her head slowly to me as if it is the most painful thing in the world for her to do. “Ash…Asher?” her teeth chatter, and a sob hunches her shoulders as she closes in on herself. “It hurts.”
“Who did this to you? Who was it? What was his name? I’m going to call 911, okay? Just stay awake. Please, stay awake,” I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear to comfort her, but the chunk of hair falls off along with a piece of scalp. Shit, the guy bashed her head in. I hurry to pull out my phone from my pocket and dial 911. “Just stay awake, okay? Talk to me.”