The Rich Boy

by Scott, Kylie

  I rest my cheek on his shoulder. “Yikes. Sounds lonely.”

  “Everyone’s lonely sometimes.”

  “You’ve said that before.”

  “Well, it’s the truth,” he mumbles. “So that’s my origin story.”

  “You must have some good memories with your dad, I hope.”

  “Sure, some. Don’t take my moaning too seriously; my childhood wasn’t so bad. I had every toy you could ask for. Trips to Europe. Stuff like that. And when Rachel found out he was just dumping me to go work, she took an interest. Started taking me to ball games and movies. Made me sit through Pride and Prejudice with her more times than I can count. Encouraged Emma and Ethan to do things with me too.” His hand slides through my hair, twirling it around his finger. “Alice, you mind if that’s enough for now? I know you’ve still got questions, but—”

  “It’s fine.” I did have more questions. Mainly about how he came from a history dripping with wealth to being a busboy in a crappy LA bar. And maybe also some questions about how he wound up slow-dancing with the waitress after closing. But now clearly wasn’t the moment. “I really am sorry about your dad.”

  “Yeah, me too. That was a shitty day,” he says quietly, his eyelids squeezing shut. “It’s weird, the idea of someone just being gone.”

  “My nan died of a stroke a few years ago. But she lived on the other side of the country and I didn’t really know her well.”

  For a moment, he says nothing. I always wanted the ability to portal for a superpower. Right now, however, being able to read minds would be useful. His hold on me tightens, fingers pressing in a little. “If I haven’t already said it ten times before, I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I’m glad I’m here too.”

  “Master Beck,” a loud and stern voice announces.

  Beside me on the bed, Beck stirs with a groan. Guess we fell asleep. I check my watch, and sure enough, it’s almost nine p.m. Hours since we had our impromptu appetizers picnic and he told me a little about his life. We both sit up, stunned by the intrusion. Maybe I should have wedged a chair beneath the door handle or something. Though I’ve only ever seen it done in movies so no idea if it actually works.

  “Your grandmother thought you might have gotten lost on the way to your room,” continues the man. With the hall lit bright behind him, he’s just a big shadow standing in the open doorway. “Allow me to escort you back.”

  “Not necessary, Winston,” says Beck. “But thanks for the thought. Tell Grandma that I can find my way just fine and will do so in a moment or two.”

  “I’ll wait for you in the hallway then, shall I?”

  “Oh, and Winnie?” Beck’s voice hardens. “Don’t walk in on Miss Lawrence again.”

  “I knocked,” says the man. “You must not have heard me.”

  “Knock louder next time and wait for her to answer. You know how Gran abhors bad manners.”

  “Almost as much as she dislikes unplanned additions to the family.”

  The two just stare at each other. Then the door shuts without further comment.

  “That’s the majordomo I warned you about.” Beck shakes his head. “Used to scare the crap out of me as a kid. You have to admire his total dedication to being a dick.”

  “Was he taking aim at you being born out of wedlock or me being a money-grubbing ho who can’t be trusted with your sperm?”

  “Both, probably,” he says. “The man can multitask like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “I feel like I’m a teenager all over again.”

  “Gran can be somewhat old-fashioned, overbearing, and generally an all-around control freak.” His gaze is unhappy. “Sorry about that.”

  “Lucky we weren’t doing anything interesting.”

  “Hmm.” He shoves a hand through his messy hair, looking all tense again. “You are safe here, Alice, I promise.”

  “Well, from the living, sure. That asshole out in the hallway doesn’t scare me. But what about ghosts?” To be honest, I’m a bit miffed about being separated from him at this hour. If we weren’t ready to sleep together in the figurative sense, I at least liked the idea of doing it in the literal sense. And now this rude douche-canoe majordomo dude is cheating me out of even that. I scowl. It’s even possible I pout. I wouldn’t put it past me.

  He smiles. “Ghosts?”

  “It’s an old house, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is. Though to my knowledge, no one has actually ever been murdered here,” he says. “Which isn’t to say Catherine the Great doesn’t have a temper. Gran’s made Denver shake with fear a time or two. But still…no gruesome killings in this house as far as I’m aware.”

  “Yeah, but what if there were some genteel type who just became overwhelmed with the amount of chintz in this room and up and expired? It would have looked like natural causes when really it would be like the house itself had turned against them, just like in a movie.”

  His brows draw in tight. “You know, I never thought of that.”

  “It could happen.”

  “Oh, it totally could. Death by florals. What a fucking awful way to go.” He seizes my hand, kissing my knuckles and making me laugh. “Beloved Alice. Please don’t die on me through the night. It would really bum me out.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “That’s all I can ask.” And he’s smiling again so my work here is done. He drops my hand and climbs off the bed. “Be brave. I believe in you. Good night.”

  “Night.”

  Not sure what I was expecting exactly, but no one came in to open the curtains, stoke the fire, and serve me tea and toast in bed the next morning. Of course, it isn’t the nineteenth century, so there you go. I shower and dress, blow dry my hair, and all the rest. There’s nothing like winged eyeliner for boosting confidence. Another pair of jeans, a clean T-shirt, and my favorite boots complete the ensemble. It’s about the best I can do. The rich will have to take me as I am. I’m not one of them and I never will be.

  The house is silent. I tiptoe down the fancy staircase, unsure where exactly I’m supposed to go and what I’m supposed to do. No response from the text I sent Beck. (He gave me the number on the ride from the airport.) Maybe if I head down to the front gates I can call an Uber to come take me to the nearest coffee and mall. It sounds like the best plan.

  “Miss Lawrence.”

  I jump. “Shit. You scared me.”

  Winston, the majordomo, has a face set in stone. Nothing seems to occur on it. Nothing changes. “Miss MacKenna is waiting for you in the drawing room.”

  “Right. Where is that again?”

  He nods to the room to my left.

  “Thank you.”

  Winston turns and heads up the stairs. Bet he’s off to check my bag to see if I’ve stolen anything.

  Inside a cream room with gold accents, Rachel sits sipping a cup of coffee and perusing an iPad. Perhaps I’m finally going to find out what Grandma’s “see to the girl” comment meant. I’m half afraid, half curious. Also, I note that no one offered me a caffeinated beverage. Assholes. I also don’t tackle the woman and steal her coffee. It’s called self-restraint.

  “Good morning,” I say.

  “Alice.” Rachel sets the delicate coffee cup aside and gets to her feet with a smile. She’s wearing a pale green pencil skirt and blouse. Her blond hair is pulled back into a chignon. The woman is polished to perfection. I doubt a speck of dust would even dare sully such flawlessness. “Let’s get moving. I have a meeting in an hour so I don’t have much time, unfortunately.”

  “Get moving where?”

  “No one told you? We’re going shopping.” She strides toward the doors, accepting her tan woolen coat and handbag from a waiting maid who seems to appear out of nowhere. The help sure move quick around here.

  “Oh good,” I say. “I was hoping to pick up a few things.”

  “Great. Let’s talk in the car.”

  At least going shopping will get me out of this mausoleum and away from
Winston. I check my cell, still no answer from Beck. But then it’s half past nine and he was going to be in the meeting with his brother. I slept late, what with the time difference and drama of yesterday. Guess I’ll catch up with him later.

  Walking with all due grace on her tan pumps, Rachel slides into the backseat of a Rolls Royce. A different driver than Smith holds open the door for her. I head around to the other side and open my own door despite the driver’s weird glance. Inside are ridiculously comfortable and soft tan leather seats. Rachel has a classic kind of beauty. Wide blue eyes, a straight nose, and nicely shaped lips. Yet another woman in the family who could have easily been a model. Beck’s dad sure had a type. Which yet again makes me wonder what I’m doing here. Though Beck isn’t his father and my insecurities need to remember this fact.

  “I guess this is all a lot to take in,” she says as the engine purrs to life and we start moving forward.

  “You could say that.”

  “Beck is a good boy. Or a good man, rather.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  She nods. “It won’t necessarily be easy if you decide to stay. If you continue seeing each other. The family is…complicated. But I’d imagine Beck will make it worth your while.”

  No idea if she’s after information or not, but I keep my mouth shut.

  We drive in silence, the elaborate gardens and grand houses giving way to mini-mansions that are no less impressive. I grew up in a three-bedroom bungalow in a nice enough area. Nothing like this.

  “Are we going to a mall?” I ask.

  “Yes, Cherry Tree.”

  “Do they have Old Navy or Nordstrom Rack?”

  Rachel just blinks. “I’m not sure.”

  “It’s just…I’m on a budget.”

  “Alice,” she says, her hands stilling on the iPad. “You don’t need to worry about that. Arrangements have been made.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I realize this might seem a little odd, but I’d ask that you trust me.”

  “Trust you with what exactly?”

  “Here we are,” she says.

  We’re already pulling up to the curb outside a sprawling and rather magnificent mall. It’s all glossy brown and black stone and quite possibly the grandest shopping complex I’ve ever seen. Chances are, I couldn’t afford a coffee in this place. A man in a gray-checked two-piece suit stands waiting on the sidewalk. He’s about a decade older than me and a hundred times more stylish. The aqua-colored tie confirms it. Behind him stands an older lady in a silk floral jumpsuit. I’m not just out of my depth here, I’m drowning.

  “They’re personal shoppers.” Rachel searches in her handbag, pulling out a black credit card. “They’ll help you today. Just give them this.”

  “Is that Beck’s?”

  “The card? Yes.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I’m not…that’s not something I’m okay with.”

  For a moment, she just looks at me. “Alice, you have ethics and I applaud that. It’s refreshing, really. But the fact is, you’re dating an Elliot and in this town that means something. I don’t mean to be harsh, but the way you look now does not fit into this world.”

  “I know I’m not as—”

  “Now, I do not doubt that you have a wonderful personality. But I repeat, you do not fit,” she says in a not unkind voice. “And while you’re part of this world, you need to. Otherwise, you’re going to cause unnecessary friction for both Beck and yourself. With his family, his friends, people he does business with…pretty much everyone.”

  My secondhand Levi’s feel so judged right now. Which is bullshit because I love them. And yet.

  “It is not going to be smooth, Beck sliding back into his old life here. Especially not with Jack’s death. Beck ruffled a lot of feathers when he left the way he did and now again with bringing you here. If you let the personal shoppers help you, then you’ll be one less thing he needs to worry about.”

  “Since you have his card, I take it Beck knows about all this?” I ask.

  “When I saw him this morning, I told him I was taking you to lunch and that there might be extra expenses.”

  “So you didn’t tell him.”

  She stares off into the distance with a faint line between her brows. “I find matters like these are often best sorted out between us girls.”

  These fucking people.

  “It’s your choice of course, Alice,” she says. “All I can do is encourage you to see the big picture and move forward in a way that will bring you the best chance of success.”

  For a moment I just sit there, staring at the hands in my lap, at the chips in my black nail polish. Also, my cuticles are a mess due to me picking at them. One of many annoying nervous habits. It feels like control is being stripped from me and I don’t like it. At least Beck isn’t behind any of this bullshit. And as much as I’d like to tell Rachel what she can do with her opinion, she was one of the few people who was kind to Beck when he was left alone by his dad as a kid. There’s a lot to consider.

  But do I want to fit in with his family? That’s the question.

  I definitely don’t want him to think I’m here for his money. However, I don’t want to reflect badly on Beck, either. This is the truth of the matter. And tensions are indeed running high. God knows what he’s going through dealing with everything right now. God knows why exactly I’m even here. However, while I am, I want to be a good thing in his life. Something he doesn’t need to worry about.

  She holds out the card with a sympathetic smile. “Every relationship requires compromise, I’m afraid.”

  True enough. I’m just not sure about this particular one. The card is thicker, heavier than anticipated. I slip it into the inside pocket of my handbag for safekeeping. If money means power in this world, then I’m holding on to what little control I have. A cold wind slaps me in the face. The Rolls engine purrs to life and Rachel is gone. I hang my head back and look at the clear blue sky. Given how my day is going, it’s amazing a passing bird doesn’t just shit on me. Honestly.

  “Hi,” I say to the waiting dynamic shopping duo. They’re so sophisticated. Bet they sit front row at fashion shows. “I’m Alice. Um, I don’t know what you’ve been told, but just a couple of outfits will be more than enough. No need to overdo it, right?”

  They share a silent look.

  I’m sequestered in a changing room larger than my apartment. It has plush white carpet with a couple of matching sofas, and ginormous gilt-edged framed mirrors. People rush back and forth fetching lingerie, shoes, evening gowns, active wear, and everything in between. Not all of the outfits fit. I won’t even try all of the suggested outfits on (beige people shouldn’t wear beige). However, we’ve managed to find a few different things that work. There’s a garment rack full of rejected outfits, another of possibly maybes, and half a rack of yes please.

  And in walks the woman Beck admitted to avoiding at the wake. Yikes.

  “Not bad,” she says, looking me over before directing a young man to deposit a collection of shopping bags from various stores to one side of the room.

  Considering the amount of Spanx I’m currently wearing and the fact that I can barely breathe, you’d think I’d at least earned a solid good. The black Oscar de la Renta–pleated stretch-wool midi dress I have on is nothing short of beautiful and I wish to be buried in it. Same goes for the leather booties. So maybe despite all of my protestations and fears about selling out, I like expensive-people fashion sometimes after all. Label me a hypocrite.

  I am, however, done for the day. Normally I like shopping. I even love it. But three hours of people trying to convince me I’d look great in neo-mint (whatever that is), yolk yellow, and electric blue, before attempting to sell me on feathers, puffy power shoulders (while I respect Anne of Green Gables it’s a hard no from me), and a silk boiler suit, is a lot. More than I can handle, apparently. I won’t be coerced or bullied into getting anything that doesn’t feel like me. And while the personal s
hoppers aren’t happy, that’s not my problem.

  “Hi,” I say. “I’m Alice.”

  Her gaze jumps to mine. “Sorry. Selah. Nice to meet you. We crossed paths briefly at the wake. You might not remember.”

  “I remember.”

  A nod and she looks away. “I’m Rachel’s assistant. She sent me over to check on how everything was going.”

  “Fine. I think we’re about finished.”

  Nothing from her.

  “What line of business is Rachel in, by the way?” I ask, curious.

  “It’s her department store you’re standing in,” answers Selah. “Or rather, her family’s.”

  Holy shit.

  Everyone’s heard of the Mac Department Stores, though there’s only a few of them in the country. Mac is where the seriously rich shop. Before today, I’d never even bothered stepping foot inside one. A solid choice, considering the dress I’m wearing costs over five thousand dollars. The personal shoppers tried to get me to stop looking at price tags, but curiosity wins every time. And the running tally kind of makes me want to hurl, only I’d ruin my pretty shoes.

  “Rachel wanted to make sure we’re covering all bases.” Selah walks around me inspecting the dress. I’m honestly not used to people caring about how I look to this degree. The level of attention is a combination of weird, kind of nice, and awkward. Though having it come from this particular perfect petite brunette doll is daunting. Don’t get me wrong; I have self-esteem despite my various neuroses. But I also have suspicions about where she fits into Beck’s life.

  Which is when my cell vibrates from where it’s sitting over on one of the sofas.

  Beck: Forgot to mention Rachel wants to take you to lunch.

  Me: Yeah…

  Beck: Sorry about that. Meeting ran overtime. Everything okay?

  Me: It’s fine. Hope your meeting went well.

  Beck: Tell you about it later. Lawyers up next. Wish me luck.