Charming (New York Heirs #3)

by Drea Blackery

  Sudden shrieks came from the pool below, jerking my attention back.

  A group of screaming girls had pretended to lose their bikinis in the water. It was obviously for show, since they knew Theo and I were watching from our spot on the balcony. That just made their performance all the more pathetic.

  Allie Beckett would never do shit like that.

  She probably didn't even own a bikini.

  And just for that, I'd place these girls one step above her.

  Beside me, Theo's eyes took on a gleam as he stared down at the crowd. I knew that look, and what he was going to do.

  It was his favorite pastime after all—and the only reason he still bothered to show up at these parties.

  “Listen up,” he barked at the crowd.

  The laughter and music tapered, and two hundred pairs of eyes looked up at him, waiting for his cue.

  Theo pulled out a money clip from his back pocket and peeled out some bills from the stack of hundred dollar notes.

  Then he held them up in one hand.

  “Five hundred bucks tonight,” he announced, looking like the most bored showman that ever existed. “You bastards know what to do.”

  The people right below us dispersed like clockwork to form a space.

  At the same time, I saw white curtains fluttering at the corner of my eye.

  She was watching.

  “Hold it,” I drawled.

  Theo and the crowd looked at me in question.

  I took out my own arsenal—a checkbook, because I wasn’t going to stand around counting out ten bills like an idiot.

  “I'm doubling the prize money.” I eyed the crowd with a cold smirk. “A thousand bucks to the last one standing at the end of the night.”

  The crowd erupted in cheers and screams at my announcement.

  “Prick. Just had to one-up me, didn't you,” Theo grinned, oblivious to my real motive.

  Below us, two guys I recognized as juniors from our high school took off their shirts and stepped into the makeshift ring as the first contenders of the night.

  Dumb move, since the prize went to the last person still conscious. The kids in this town really gave each other a run for their money.

  I counted exactly five beats.

  Then I idly turned my head to the right, as if I was just taking a casual look around.

  Her windows were shut again, and this time, the lights were off.

  I scoffed, snapping my head back to the fight.

  Allie Beckett could hide all she wanted, but my prize money meant that the crowd would be fired up tonight. The cheers and screams were already escalating as the two guys started to beat the shit out of each other.

  Good luck getting to sleep with that, Allie cat.

  “What if we told them to kill each other?” I mused.

  Theo angled his head, looking down at the crowd dispassionately. “We'll have to up the cash, but for the right price, eventually someone will do it.”

  Damn straight. We could make them do anything we wanted without even lifting a finger.

  I didn’t get it. It was just money.

  Paper.

  Why the hell did people get so worked up over it?

  The party raged on below us, the ruckus louder now with the addition of the fight.

  The first guy finally dropped out when both his eyes were swollen shut, and another contender stepped up to take his place in the makeshift ring that was now dotted with blood and sweat.

  I stared down at the frenzied crowd, watching the scene below with a familiar detachment.

  Was anyone here actually enjoying this? Even Theo looked vaguely disappointed, like it wasn't as entertaining as he'd expected.

  And me?

  I felt like shit.

  I wasn't usually in such a piss-poor mood, but today was an exception.

  Because earlier, I’d closed my first contract.

  It was an undervalued property in SoCal that was slated to be highly profitable after development. After five months of negotiations and coming down on them like Thor with his hammer, I’d finally twisted Caldwell Realty’s arm hard enough that they signed it to us at below market value.

  It was my first milestone in decades of milestones to come, and my father—along with all the company directors—had been watching.

  I thought I did pretty impressive work, though I didn't know what I’d expected from the old man.

  Acknowledgement?

  Pride?

  I sure as hell hadn't expected disgust.

  But according to Thomas Wyatt Jr., Caldwell Realty could have been bullied to sell even lower. I'd secured us several million in future profit, but none of that mattered.

  All because I hadn't made more.

  It was beyond fucked up.

  I picked up my glass again, before realizing that it was empty.

  Dammit.

  I settled for glowering at the fight below instead.

  More times than I could count, I'd thought about just ditching everything and disappearing somewhere no one knew my last name.

  But as much as I hated this bullshit, I also knew I couldn't live without the perks that came with being a Wyatt.

  Status. Power. Popularity.

  All the things I couldn't let go of.

  All the things Allie Beckett could, apparently.

  Just another reason to hate that girl.

  “What up, party people!” Gabriel suddenly burst out from behind us, hollering at the crowd.

  The partiers raised a sea of red cups to him and cheered like he was the freaking Pope.

  Slinging his arms over Theo's and my necks, Gabriel grinned at the fight below, now on its third round. “Sweet. How much for tonight?”

  Theo raised his brow at Gabriel's arm but didn't comment on it. “One K from Ryland.”

  Gabriel let out a whistle as he tossed his hair off his forehead. “Hold onto the money for me, I'm going in after this dude.”

  I frowned. “Why, you short on cash again?”

  “Nah, just bored.”

  Bullshit, but I didn't press.

  We all had our demons.

  “Skip tonight's fight,” Theo said cryptically. “Something's going down later and trust me, you won't wanna miss the show.”

  I smirked. “What’s more interesting than watching Gabe get the shit beaten out of him?”

  “Dude, I can take you on any day.”

  “You protect your face too much, jackass, your body’s wide open. Kinda like your asshole.”

  Gabriel merely grinned and flipped me off, which meant he was still in a good mood from his recent blowjob.

  Theo pushed off the balustrade and jerked his chin towards the French doors. “Let's talk inside. All this screaming's pissing me off.”

  Back in the fuck pad, Cam was done, and the three girls he’d been screwing were draped over the chaise like used laundry. The guy himself looked smug as hell as he helped himself to a beer at the mini-bar.

  Theo snapped his fingers. “Out.”

  The girls blinked. “You mean us?” one asked in a high pitched voice.

  “No, the Queen of fucking England.” Theo threw them an irritated look. “Just get the hell out.”

  The three girls filed out of the room, making their unhappiness known with calls of “asshole”—under their breaths, because they still wanted to be invited back.

  Like I said. Pathetic.

  “What's this about, man?” Cam pried the cap off his beer bottle and took a swig. “We were just getting pumped for round two.”

  Theo folded his arms and half-sat against the pool table. “Remember that shit we talked about at the pier? It's happening tonight.”

  We all froze at that, except Theo who was now smiling like a psycho.

  Two weeks ago, he’d come to us with a problem.

  Estelle, his mum, had gambled her money away to nothing, and she needed more, fast.

  It hadn't taken us long to come up with a solution that rode on Horace's ob
session with her. It was more dangerous than feasible, but hey, at least it was entertaining.

  Never underestimate what a bunch of drunk high school seniors could do when they had too much time and money on their hands.

  Besides, if Estelle pulled it off, we all stood to gain from it. It'd be a win-win for everyone.

  Everyone except Horace Beckett.

  “So she's gonna do it?” Gabriel grinned slowly. “Damn Theo, your mum's one crazy bitch. Hot, but crazy.”

  No kidding. It was no wonder Theo was a little fucked up too.

  Then again, we all were.

  Gabriel quizzed him for details while Cam gave me a disinterested shrug and nursed his booze. I lounged on the sofa and eyed my friends.

  Frankly, I hadn't expected Estelle to take us up on the idea. It had started out as some bullshit talk between the four of us, and now it was actually happening.

  My lips curved slowly.

  Finally, something interesting.

  The minutes passed as we waited for some kind of signal that told us that shit was going down. Outside, the party—and the fight—raged on. It didn’t matter that we weren't even watching. We had given our instructions, and they would follow. That was how it worked.

  Feeling restless, I got up to fix another drink when suddenly—

  BANG!

  The crowd outside fell silent, as if the script had changed and they didn't know how to act anymore.

  “Was that a gunshot?” some girl shrilled.

  The four of us shared a look.

  “Damn,” Cam murmured, looking reluctantly impressed. “She really did it.”

  Theo straightened, and for the first time that night his face showed something other than boredom or irritation.

  The bastard almost looked excited.

  “Showtime,” he smirked as he strode out the fuckpad.

  Cam and Gabriel headed out after him, but for some reason I paused, letting my gaze stray past the balcony doors to Allie Beckett's room again.

  Just like before, her lights were off, and her windows were still bolted shut.

  It was ironic, because nothing else remained the same after that night. With that single fired shot, every one of our lives had changed, intertwining in ways we never expected.

  We just didn’t know it yet.

  Present day

  “You can't look more bored if you wanted,” Karin marveled as we strolled through the exhibition hall. “Promise me you'll at least try to look impressed when you see my art piece.”

  “I'm not bored, I'm just…” I waved my wine glass, searching for the right word.

  “Tired?” Karin suggested.

  “Uninspired,” I finished dryly. “But “tired” works too. Get a load of these dark circles, I look like a panda on meth.”

  “You look amazing,” Karin said resolutely, waving at her friend as we passed her.

  The girl was surrounded by three generations of her family, all of whom were eagerly snapping pictures of her and her artwork with their phones and DSLRs.

  We were presently at the city's largest museum for an art show. Specifically, an exhibition displaying the mid-year projects from Karin's graduating college class. It was the students' first step to becoming legitimate artists, so it was a pretty big deal, and their family members had been invited to celebrate the occasion.

  For Karin, that meant only me.

  “Amazing? In my office wear?” I looked down doubtfully.

  I was totally underdressed in my plain white blouse and black skirt. That fact was even more obvious as I walked with my younger sister, who had gone all out with a lovely sea-green cocktail dress and full makeup and hair.

  In fact, everyone here looked dressed up, and that included the family members. I even spotted a few proud mamas in evening gowns.

  I fingered the hem of my skirt that had shrunk to a size too small. “I should have brought something nicer to change into.”

  Karin waved a hand. “You look fine. And whenever you feel like crap, just remember that your hair is so pretty, it takes the attention away from your face.”

  “Gee, thanks, I feel much better now.”

  “You should! People take you so much more seriously when you have dark hair. Mine's freakin' ginger.”

  “Red,” I corrected.

  “Orange.” Karin rolled her eyes dramatically. “A genetic defect, plus I have a higher risk of skin cancer and Parkinson's. If humans weren't so highly evolved, I'd be dead by way of natural selection.”

  I grinned, having heard this same complaint for years. “I think I can speak for brunettes when I say that our hair color does not make people take us more seriously. Not in the workplace, anyway.”

  “That's because you don't wear glasses,” Karin said reasonably.

  I snorted. “Okay, Sherlock.”

  “And also because your boss is a huge turd.” She slipped her arm through mine as we weaved through the crowd. “Has he tried to hit on you recently?”

  “Nope, not since I threatened to inform his wife about his post-work activities at the hotel. After that, he retreated faster than his hairline.”

  “Serves him right,” Karin sniffed. “I think you should tell her anyway. On principle, and as payback for all the OT. Oh, and also that time he made you run out for coffee during a blizzard.”

  I drained the rest of my champagne and deposited the flute on a small table as we passed.

  “Maybe.” No way.

  It wasn't that I didn't wait to.

  I did, and I'd been tempted several times before. Not so much as payback—I just felt sickened that I was complicit in the bastard's cheating.

  But then jobs didn't grow on trees, and I still had a sister to feed and bills to pay. Ruining my boss' marriage was a surefire way to ensure I never got hired again.

  So even with Charles Duncan's wandering eyes, I kept my head down and did my errands like a good PA. I bought his mistress underwear, him condoms, did whatever the creep wanted as long as the check kept coming in at the end of the month.

  My younger self from ten years ago would have been horrified at my lack of pride.

  Then again, she didn't know what it was like to have only two digits left in the bank account either. Pride was a luxury I couldn't afford.

  Literally.

  My attention wandered around the exhibition hall we made our way through the clusters of students and their family.

  The museum we were in was a mausoleum-styled building straight out of a history book.

  In contrast, the halls within were all clinically minimalist and modern. The whiteness of the walls around us was glaring, broken only by the brightly-hued canvases illuminated by massive pendant lights that hung from the ceilings.

  It made the colors in this place pop. Everything seem more alive somehow, so it was kind of fitting that I was in monochrome.

  I wasn’t dead inside yet, but some days I felt halfway there.

  “Here we are,” Karin chirped.

  My attention snapped to the four-foot tall canvas she had planted us in front of.

  It was a painting of a woman seated cross-legged in a white expanse, gazing out at the viewer with a watchful, almost wary expression, with her face half-hidden behind her locks of dark hair. The paint strokes were raw and looked like haphazard dashes of color.

  Even so, the woman's face looked familiar.

  Really familiar.

  I blinked. “That's...me.”

  “Surprise!” Karin grinned up at me. “I didn't want to show you before, ‘cause I was afraid of jinxing it. But it turned out pretty well, don't you think?”

  I stared at the canvas for a long moment. “Are my eyes really that far apart?”

  “Seriously? I painted a portrait of you for my first ever exhibition, and that's all you have to say?”

  “Of course not,” I amended. “I also wanted to say…the nose looks a teeny bit off.”

  Karin poked me in the side. “Oy.”

  “Sorry.”
I grinned as I examined the painting again.

  It was a strange feeling to be looking at your own portrait. It felt almost like looking into the mirror, but instead of a reflection that moved when I moved, this woman seemed like another person altogether—the version of me that my sister saw.

  It was scarily intimate.

  “I like your shading,” I offered instead.

  “Aww, you're so cute when you try.”

  My lips twisted. “Bitch.”

  “I appreciate it though.” Karin beamed at me. “I know you're already bored to death and would rather be reading at home, but on the bright side, you're killing two birds with one stone. You're attending my first exhibition, and my first sale.”

  My mouth fell open. “You're kidding. Someone bought your painting?”

  According to Karin, it was common for the family to purchase the artwork at these student exhibitions. I had painstakingly scrounged up three hundred dollars to buy hers, but it looked like someone had beat me to it.

  “Yep, and it’s a nice figure too.” Karin darted a glance at the people milling about us before leaning in. “Five thousand,” she whispered.

  “Five…” My eyes widened.

  To my horror, the first thing that crossed my mind wasn't how proud or happy I was for my sister.

  Instead, I thought of the three hundred dollars that were saved, and all the bills that could be paid with the five thousand...

  I quickly shoved the ugly thoughts aside.

  “Congrats,” I whispered back. “Do you know who bought it?”

  Karin shook her head. “I only know it's a guy. But he's got to be pretty well-off. That’s a lot for a debut artwork, let alone a random girl's—” Then her eyes widened, and she grabbed my arm. “Allie! What if he bought it because of you?”

  My brows drew together in confusion. “What? Who?”

  “The buyer!” Karin’s face practically shone. “Maybe he paid that much because the painting is of you.”

  A startled laugh escaped me. “If he did, I'd be really freaked out. It's not romantic when it's real life, K, it's borderline stalkerish.”

  Karin looked unconvinced. “I think it's sweet.”

  “We need to have a talk about trust soon. Specifically, how you have too much of it.”

  “Please, I think you have too little. You haven't dated in like a million years.”