by Lucia Franco
Sleep sounded like a good idea.
"Malysh! Stay with me!"
I couldn’t.
All I could do was lay there in agony, my broken body trembling in a warm pool of blood as my eyes rolled shut and darkness consumed me.
To be continued one final time…
Turn for a preview of Hush, Hush.
I knew the rules.
Never reveal my true identity.
Play the game, give the illusion.
Don’t get close to the clients.
The dark and glamorous lifestyle of the rich and shameless open my eyes to a lavish world of sin and wealth, and a man I can’t have.
A man I desperately want—James Riviera.
We're treading a fine line as we live the ultimate double life until we make a startling discovery that tests both our loyalties.
I only had to follow the rules, but rules are meant to be broken.
Chapter One
"Where are you coming from all dolled up like that?" I rub my sleepy eyes, then reach under the throw pillow for my cell phone to check the time. It’s 4:04 a.m.
"Shit, Aubrey, I’m sorry," my roommate says. "I didn't mean to wake you up. Go back to sleep."
The walls of our apartment are paper-thin, making it almost impossible to get a good night’s sleep. Then again, I’m used to it.
"It's not a big deal." I sit up and reach over to turn on the lamp on the end table. I must’ve fallen asleep on the couch.
"These shoes are killing my feet." Natalie plops down on the opposite end of the couch. Her head falls back and she turns to look at me. "I'm so worn out," she groans. "I can't believe how late I got home. How the hell am I gonna get up for class in the morning?"
"I don't know why you always keep such an early schedule," I say, my voice groggy. "You should see if you can change it up and take some night classes."
Natalie carefully tugs off her fake eyelashes and drops them on the coffee table in front of us. "You know I can't. I have to work."
This is a usual thing for us. "No, you don't. I don’t even know why you do."
"Because I'm not going to be a little rich bitch and rely on my parents, only for them to get mad when I don't heel and take everything away. Fuck that."
I chuckle. Today is the first day of our senior year at Fordham University in Manhattan, and not much has changed since we met as freshmen. I'm still a broke college student here on a full scholarship, and she still has tons of family money but refuses to use it. Being complete opposites, I didn’t think we’d get along at first. She’s Hollister and I’m whatever’s cute straight off a Goodwill rack. I can get lost in the latest romance bestseller, meanwhile Natalie only reads anything with glossy pages and celebrity pictures. She’s rap and I’m pop. Carmine’s Italian vs. Chef Boyardee. The list is extensive, but our taste in guys and the lack of filter on our tongues were enough to make us click, and we’ve been best friends ever since.
"I guess I see your point."
I didn’t really. People with her mentality rile me up. Coming from nothing, and I mean dirt-poor nothing, it's hard to process why anyone would want to struggle when they didn’t have to. Still, I love her.
Natalie turns and lies on her back. She places her head on my lap and looks up at the ceiling. "Trust me. Money doesn't make you happy, Aub. All it does is cause more problems," she says, her voice low, empty.
"I'd give anything to not have to worry about living expenses, or if I'll even have enough to get a few extra things from the grocery." My body can only take so much nasty, cheap soup and day-old coffee.
"You need a new job," she states.
Another thing we do all the time.
After fulfilling the first-year requirement of living in the dorms, Natalie immediately wanted to move out, and she’d wanted me to move with her. I didn't have the luxury of leaving since I couldn't afford to live on my own, and my scholarship included room and board on campus. But Natalie insisted I didn't have to pay and begged me to move with her. I didn't like taking handouts from anyone, so we’d made a deal. She covered moving expenses and rent, and with my small part-time job at the laundromat, I paid the utilities. After the second year, I had a handle on my studies and a second paying job. Not that I like it, though—I hate watching kids.
"Tell me about it,” I say. “Come Friday, I'll be stuck with the two little monsters all damn weekend while their parents take a vacation to Martha's Vineyard. I shouldn't complain, though. The money is good."
She laughs as she removes her diamond hoops and places them next to her fake lashes. "I don't know how you deal with crying kids after school and work. I'd rather strap a mattress to my back."
"I need that money, Nat. I don't have a choice. I wonder if I can give them NyQuil all weekend." I laugh when her eyes widen. "I'm kidding!"
My parents had died in a four car pileup on the Southern State Parkway on Long Island when I was seven, and my grammy raised me and gave me what she could, which wasn't very much. I’d gotten a job at the local pool as a lifeguard as soon as I was old enough, then during the winters, I worked as a hostess at an Italian restaurant. I even filled in as a dishwasher when they were short-staffed. Whatever money Grammy didn't need for bills, I socked away. But now those savings were gone—living in the city isn’t for the poor or the middle class—and I need to figure something out.
Natalie sits up and pulls off her five-inch Louboutin’s. The red-bottomed, black lace-up pumps are sexy as hell. I want them, but I know I'll never be able to afford them. She drops the shoes to the overshined waxed wood floor like she's taking off work boots.
"I can't believe you walk around serving shots in those heels all night. Aren't you afraid you're going to ruin them?"
"It has its rewards."
One corner of her mouth pulls up as she reaches for her purse on the floor. Her hand disappears into her clutch, then she takes out three stacks of hundreds banded together. She throws each one at me. My eyes widen as I catch them.
"Where did all this come from? Did you see your parents?"
Aubrey rolls her navy-colored eyes at me in obvious annoyance. "That's a fuck no, Aub. That's a week of work." She points to the stacks of bills in my hands.
"Get the hell out of here. One week?" This was more money than I made in a year. With one stack of these bills, I could get everything I desperately needed right now but couldn't afford. "Why are you walking around with this much cash in New York City?"
Natalie walks to her room and returns with a familiar book. I hand her back the money after she sits next to me and flips open a weathered dictionary about nine inches thick. The middle is cut out, leaving a big, empty square. She places the money inside, then closes it and stacks it in between the books on the coffee table. No one would guess it's a fake, and no one would think to pick it up. I came up with the idea when we’d wanted to hide something that held value in our dorm, and it's a tactic we’ve used ever since.
"Don't worry, no one knew. I carry a clutch for a reason. It’s the perfect size to hide under my armpit. Once my coat is buttoned, no one can tell."
"What if you get mugged?"
She eyes me like I'm stupid. "When? While I’m sitting in a cab? I know better than to walk these streets at night, Mom."
Ever since I started the part-time nanny gig a year ago, her new thing is to call me Mom when I worry about something she does. The little monsters call me Mom too, but that's a different story.
"You could've gotten a crazy cab driver, like in the movie The Bone Collector." I get cozy under my blanket and Natalie climbs under it at the opposite end. "Go straight to the bank. Don't leave that here."
"I'm going after my first class to put some away. It's not like I can deposit it all at once. The bank would make me fill out paperwork, then question where it came from. I have to deposit small chunks at a time."
Interesting. I didn’t know that. I check the time on my phone. My alarm will be going off in a couple of hours, a little ea
rlier than normal. I need some extra time to get ready for the first day.
"When you're ready to quit changing shitty diapers and wiping snotty noses, let me know. There might be an opening coming up where I work."
I giggle at her suggestion. "I can't be a shot girl. For one, I can't afford to wear the clothes you do, you know that. And two, I'm not clumsy, but I know I would drop the tray on someone. I'd end up having to pay for it all, too."
Natalie shifts on the couch. "The money is so good, though. You just gotta leave your morals at the door."
"To serve shots?"
She's quiet for a long moment and I think she's asleep, until she says, "When you're ready to make money—and I'm talking about money like what you saw tonight, money you could use to help Grammy out with—let me know."
I eye the dictionary and think about the stacks of cash I’d held. After all my necessary expenses for the month are paid, I deposit whatever money I have left into Grammy’s bank account. Even though I’m struggling, my grammy lives on social security and needs the money more than I do. The winters have been brutal the last few years, and if my little scraps of cash help pay her heating bill, then I could do without.
As sleep overtakes me, I think about Nat’s offer. The cash she brought home. The simple luxuries I could treat Grammy and myself to with money like that. I’d get her a flat screen TV and get rid of the '80s monstrosity in her living room. I’d replace my cheap winter coat that hardly does a thing to create a barrier between the cool air and myself. Maybe even new boots to keep my toes from going numb when the temperature dropped. If I made that much cash, I could finally get Grammy out of the shack she lives in.
Chapter Two
Two classes complete, and I'm in dire need of a huge serving of caffeine to get through the rest of the day. There's a little hippie coffee shop a few blocks over that Natalie wants to meet at. I have about an hour and a half before my next class to spare.
Walking inside, I spot my best friend immediately, wearing ripped jeans, white Converse, and a peachy pink shirt she's tied into a knot on the left side of her hip. No makeup or jewelry, hair in a messy bun, she's a stark contrast to what she’d looked like early this morning. Natalie is already sitting down with two coffees and a muffin that I know is vegan. She's into all that healthy clean eating shit.
I drop my books to the floor, and she slides one of the drinks my way. I give her a grateful smile and cup the hot mug in my hands, and take a sip. I sigh, making a scene about it. She knows how I love my coffee.
"You didn't have to get me a coffee. Thank you."
She rolls her eyes and shrugs it off. "Will you just shush. Honestly, I don't know how you drink it like that, but it's cool."
"It's just some sugar." I smirk. I have a terrible sweet tooth.
"It's sweetened condensed milk and cream of coconut. Just thinking about it hurts my teeth."
"Try it." I hold it out to her but she shakes her head as if I'm offering up liver and onions.
"No thanks. I'll stick to my lavender cappuccino."
She's obsessed with drinking lavender coffee and swears it's helped with her anxiety, but I call bullshit.
"Lame," I say, and take a sip. "How were your morning classes?"
"They'll be easy breezy. The professor for my Law and Society class is hot as fuck. I might have to try and bone him," she says, wiggling her brows. "The man is a walking sin, and I'm not exaggerating. He shouldn’t be allowed to teach."
"Sometimes I think you were a guy in your previous life."
"I probably was. I didn't see a ring, not that it matters, but he was wearing a white Henley that I could easily see his tats through. His chest and back are covered in ink." She all but drools. I laugh, hoping she doesn't fall into a puddle at her chair.
"Just his chest and back? No sleeves?"
Now she has hearts in her eyes.
"Both arms, babe," she says. "And he was wearing these slate gray slacks that hugged his fine ass." She mock whimpers. "And his boots… He looked fresh off fashion week. If I didn't know the name of the class, I wouldn't be able to tell you what it was about. I couldn't stop staring. I want to do bad things with him."
I sip my coffee. "You and all the other girls too, probably."
Her eyes flare and I chuckle. Natalie is competitive.
"I'll cut their eyes out with my nails if they look at him."
"I bet he's gay," I say, killing her vibe.
"Probably is. It’s so unfair." She pouts for a moment. "All the hot guys who can dress better than me are always gay and taken. Always. They're scooped up real quick. I need a gay best friend. No strings attached, a guy I can gossip with and shop with and hang out with all the time."
"When you find him, tell him it's a package deal, because I want one too," I say.
"Only because I love you will I do that. You know girls never share when they get one." She smiles. "So…" Her voice trails off.
"No," I say immediately, and put my coffee down. I know the scheming look in her eyes.
"But it's your twenty-first birthday in two weeks and I want to take you out."
"I'm sure I have to work."
She levels a stare at me. "I know you don't. I already checked your calendar. You have Mom duty this weekend, but your birthday weekend is wide open," she announces and smiles.
"I'm going to see Grammy."
Natalie isn't impressed and gives me a droll stare. I can't help but laugh again. All we ever do is laugh.
"All weekend long? Stop lying. See her during the day, and then you’re mine that Saturday night. We won't hit the clubs until at least ten, then you'll have Sunday to recuperate. If you want to spend all day with her, fine, but at night you're mine, and I'm taking you out. And before you say anything else to find a way out of it, I'm paying for everything and dressing you up." She smiles.
I groan in protest. "Nat, I don't want to."
"That's too bad. You live in the greatest city in the world. You don't have a boyfriend, and you're turning twenty-one. We're going out," she states firmly, not taking no for an answer.
"I need a boyfriend."
"You don't have time for a boyfriend," she counters.
"True, but after a night of drinking, I'm going to wish I had one."
"Then hook up with a rando in a bathroom and move on."
I tip my cup toward her. Wouldn't be my first time. "Not a bad idea."
"So it's a deal?" she asks, and I don’t miss the eager tone in her voice.
"Do I have a choice?"
"No."
I lick my lips and look out the window toward the hustle and bustle of the busy street. I glance back at her. "Only if I can wear those heels from last night. Then I'm game."
Her eyes light up. "Deal. You can have them if you want."
A laugh escapes me, and I look out the window again.
"What do you think she does for a living?" I ask, pointing to a bystander on her phone. She’s dressed in a business skirt past her knees with a matching blazer.
This is a game we came up with. We people-watch and try to guess what they do for a living.
"She's new to the city or else she wouldn’t be looking up at the sign like she's reading a language she doesn't understand. She probably tells people she's in marketing, but she's really a temp, like a receptionist for a small business that's going to crumble next month and she doesn't know it."
I nod, and she says, "Your turn. What about him?" She points to a guy in line for coffee.
He looks like every other suit in the city. "He works on Wall Street and actually has money. He doesn't fake it."
"How can you tell?"
"His watch is a dead giveaway," I say, looking at what looks to be a Cartier. I saw a blue one in a magazine once that I fell instantly in love with. I never forgot it, or the seven-thousand-dollar price tag. "You and I both know that suit is not from a corner store or off the rack. It's tailor-made to fit his body and screams wealth. I bet he's terrible in bed."
She drags her gaze down the length of his body. "He has a nice ass, though."
I can always count on her to notice a man's body. I point to a runner.
"He's a P.E. teacher for underprivileged kids and loves his job."
"Come on. A tourist?" I ask, unimpressed after she points to someone taking random pictures of the concrete jungle. "What about that one?"
"He sleeps with his uncle."
"Natalie!" I laugh, and cover my mouth. I look around to see if anyone heard her. One person is staring at us.
"What?" She shrugs, and sips her java like she was only talking about the weather. "I bet he bones his cousins too."
"You're so bad," I say with a smile. "Okay. Last one, then I have to head to class."
Her eyes scan the throngs of people trying to find the best one. "That one."
"A struggling musician with a killer voice. Oh, and he has a muse who walks around naked."
Her eyes light up. "Nice! Okay. Text me later. I might have to work tonight, but I'll try to be quiet when I get home."
"You don't know if you have to work yet? Like you find out at the last minute? That's weird."
She doesn't look at me. "I think I'll buy you some noise-cancelling earphones, just in case."
"But then how will I hear my alarm?"
She pauses. "Good point. Okay, scratch that. I'll just try to be quiet."
We hug goodbye and I thank her for my coffee, then we go our separate ways. We might attend Fordham together, but we take completely different classes and our schedules don't usually line up. I'm majoring in Developmental Sociology, and she's still undecided, or so she says. I think that's just to piss her parents off, though. I think she secretly knows but doesn't want to tell anyone.
After a full day of new classes, all I want to do is go through my syllabi and prepare for the semester. Instead, I'm hurrying around my room looking for my uniform because duty calls and my bills need paying. Between crying babies, shitty diapers, and washing and folding strangers' clothes at the laundromat, this education better pay off.
