Crown of Lies

by Pepper Winters

  Mom was missing, of course.

  But something else.

  Someone else...a friend on two legs instead of four.

  After an hour together, Dad and I had headed to work and lost ourselves in the cogs of such a demanding mistress.

  I didn’t know if he was still in his office working late, just like he would never know if I snuck out and pretended to be a girl from a different life for the night.

  Wait...what?

  The idea came out of nowhere. The betrayal and willingness to sneak behind my father’s back was a horrid, terrible concept. Yet...so enticingly exciting.

  You could do it...just for one night.

  Do what?

  The five points of the sapphire star bit into my fingers as I glanced at the congested street below again.

  Be one of them.

  Do what they do.

  Go where they go.

  Be free.

  My heart bashed my ribs as the idea slowly manifested into potential.

  Tomorrow was yet another day belonging to Belle Elle. But tonight? Tonight was my nineteenth birthday, and I’d yet to give myself a gift.

  Could I do it?

  Could I be brave enough to leave my world and everything I knew in order to sample what I could never have?

  Could I seek something I didn’t know how to find?

  Sage wrapped herself around my ankle, head butting me with approval. Or at least, I’d take it as approval because suddenly, I couldn’t imagine not doing it.

  The prison gates I’d lived behind all my life creaked with rust and whined with disapproval, slowly hinging wide. I had a few short hours before the clock struck twelve and the enchantment of my birthday would vanish.

  It’s now or never.

  Tonight, I would give into my urges and taste freedom for the first time.

  And tomorrow, I would stop these childish regrets and fully embrace my crown as the Belle Elle empress.

  Chapter Three

  MY FIRST STOP was the shop floor of Belle Elle.

  Being our flagship location, the merchandise section took up multiple levels of the skyscraper. We sold everything from top-of-the-line technology to baby toys and everything in-between, and I knew every nook and cranny. I’d spent the majority of my life helping design displays and solving stock issues.

  But not tonight.

  Tonight, I wasn’t there on business.

  Taking the elevator down from the offices, I swiped my keycard and entered my passcode to prevent the alarms going off. The store had shut to the public an hour ago, and the hushed world of cotton and silk welcomed me.

  I clipped in red high heels past pantsuits and high-fashion attire straight to the teenagers department. Ever since I’d signed Dad’s Last Will and Testament—and even before that—I’d dressed like a woman. I’d never dressed in a garment with a popular quote or profanity like the kids at my school. I’d never worn anything valued at less than four hundred dollars.

  That was about to change.

  Browsing the racks of diamante encrusted jeans and off-the-shoulder tops, I found myself critiquing the display and position of the mannequins rather than shopping for an outfit.

  Stop it.

  You’re a customer right now, not the boss.

  Forcing myself to exhale and loosen my shoulders from stress, I stopped beside a table with discounted denim. I grasped the pair neatly folded on top and shook it. The baby-blue washed jeans had a skinny leg and silver embroidery on the pockets.

  I did my best not to recall the cost of bulk buying these from Taiwan. How I’d placed the order at the start of last year to be out for this season. How, even on sale, we were still making money because that was how businesses worked. Price high and then slowly discount until no more remained in stock, our margins slowly narrowing but still profitable.

  Ugh, stop it.

  You’re not an heiress tonight. You’re just Elle. A nineteen-year-old about to break all the rules and go out.

  What would my driver, David, say when I didn’t call him in a few hours to take me home? What would Dad say if I had so much fun tonight and I didn’t return home until daybreak?

  Does it matter?

  You have to do this for yourself.

  You’re an adult.

  Clutching those thoughts, I stole the pair of jeans, pilfered an off-the-shoulder cream and black top from the rack beside it, scooped up a black lace scarf from the new arrival podium, and traded the clothing department for the shoe emporium.

  If I was going to walk around New York until midnight, I had to wear comfy shoes.

  My blood-red heels would have to go.

  Eyeing up a rack of recently ordered sneakers, I decided on a pair of white ones with rose gold piping—something I would never be allowed to wear as the figurehead of a billion-dollar company.

  I’d worn heels every day of my life since I could remember. The only difference was they were lower when I was a child, and now, they were soaring, sharp stilettos.

  Taking my new wardrobe into one of the changing rooms, I once again found myself assessing the locks on the doors and the wobble in the mirror from the second-rate glass. No flaws should exist in any aspect of our sales experience.

  I made a note to have all the mirrors replaced next time we overhauled this department.

  Slipping from my pencil skirt and black blouse, I rolled down my stockings and frowned at my underwear-clad form. The black bra offered support to my generous B-cups, but would the straps look hookerish peeking out from the off-the-shoulder top?

  I had no experience dressing like this, even though I’d gone to countless runway shows and hand selected the latest fashions.

  Suck it up and stop procrastinating.

  Tugging the tight jeans on, I slipped the top over my head and secured the lacy scarf around my throat. I made sure it hung loosely so as not to cover the blue star glittering on my skin.

  Ugh, no.

  I yanked the scarf off again and draped it over the door.

  It wasn’t needed.

  I touched the sapphire star. This would kill my father if he knew how unhappy I was after he’d given me everything. I could never explain the emptiness inside when I was so blessed on the outside. And I could never admit that I’d heard him discussing my love life with Steve the other day. Wondering if now was the time to parade me in front of New York’s finest bachelors in order to find a willing right-hand partner to run Belle Elle.

  I shuddered as I traded my stilettos for the white sneakers. The thought of giving my life to a company that’d always been there was one thing. The idea of sharing my life with a man who would never understand me was appalling.

  A meow sounded, followed by the streak of silver fur as Sage appeared under the changing room door.

  I scowled. “What are you doing down here?”

  I ought to regret teaching her to jump up and swat the buttons on the elevator. She was like Houdini with her ability to chase me down anywhere in the building, no matter if I’d kept her in my office or taken her to a meeting.

  “You know you’re not allowed on the shop floor.”

  She flicked her tail and leaped onto the small stool where I’d placed my pencil skirt. She meowed again then licked her paw.

  “You also know you can’t come with me tonight, right?”

  Her head wrenched up as if I’d uttered some terrible curse.

  She spread her claws and licked between them, daring me to say such blasphemy again.

  I ignored her display of feline annoyance, pushing her off my uniform. “You heard me, Sage. Don’t pretend otherwise.” Bundling the clothes up, I took one last look in the mirror and decided I looked sufficiently teenagerish. I sure looked nothing like the head honcho of Belle Elle.

  “Good.” I nodded, fluffing up my blonde hair that cascaded down my back to my waist. Dad constantly moaned for me to have it cut, but it was my one rebellion. The length wasn’t practical, and most of the time, I just let it air d
ry into messy waves. The only part of the perfect rule-abiding CEO that was wild.

  Heading back to the shop floor, I grabbed a shopping bag from beneath one of the many cashier stations and tucked my expensive clothes inside. Once folded neatly, I tucked the glossy bag into the cupboard beneath the till where manila folders rested with daily tasks and checklists.

  Two more things and then I would be ready to go.

  I need a coat in case it gets cold and some cash.

  I hadn’t brought my handbag down from my office. Not that it would’ve made a difference if I had.

  I had no cash. If I needed something, my assistant bought it for me. I only had a credit card for emergencies (not that I’d ever used it), and my I.D badge to access restricted parts of the building.

  Sage joined me from the changing room and prowled down the aisle, dragging my attention to a small table with funky purses on display. Seeing as I’d stolen jeans, a top, and a pair of shoes already, I supposed taking a purse wouldn’t matter.

  And hell, while I was at it, I might as well take some spending money, seeing as there wouldn’t be anyone to buy me anything tonight.

  Using the universal key attached to my lanyard and badge, I unlocked the cash register and looked at the float. There were no big bills, only regimented change ready for a new day of transactions. The rest of the day’s takings would already be counted, bound, and in our vault, ready for a bank run.

  No matter.

  Three hundred dollars in twenty-dollar bills would be fine.

  Taking the wad, I wrote a quick note on a Post-it: Noelle Charlston borrowed $300 in petty cash. Please contact her assistant, Fleur Hemmings, on extension #4456 to reimburse for morning business.

  I placed it where the bills had been (so no one would get into trouble for missing money), closed the till, and headed toward the purse display. Selecting one with a graffiti skull on a black background, I tucked the cash inside. The loneliness and strange lostness inside me slowly trickled away, blossoming into fear and excitement.

  I flashed the skull wallet at Sage. “See, I can be a rebel if I want to.”

  She licked her lips, her whiskers quivering.

  Stepping around her, I beelined for the final thing on my list.

  I’d never worn anything less than thousand dollar cashmere coats. However, tonight I would wear...

  I tapped my fingers, deliberating the jacket choice.

  Tonight, I’ll wear a patent leather black bomber with a price tag of $19.99.

  Pulling it off the hanger, I fondled the cheap material. I’d always wanted to wear something like this. As I slipped it on, two emotions skittered: terror and the sudden desire to return all the clothes to where they belonged, and eager frustration to begin my exploration of the Big Apple.

  I was afraid.

  I was excited.

  I was so sick of being sheltered and only being good at one thing.

  It’s time for that to change.

  “Happy birthday to me.” I tucked the wallet into my bomber jacket pocket, scooped Sage from the floor and rubbed her nose with mine. “I love you, but you can’t come.”

  Her little face pouted.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I won’t be gone long.”

  She meowed sadly.

  My heart squeezed, but I steeled myself against her guilt trip and headed toward the elevators. Walking was so much easier and comfier in sneakers than heels. No wonder people choose them over fashion.

  “I’m sorry, Sage, but it’s only one night.” Holding her firm with one hand, I pressed the button to summon two elevators.

  One to go up and one to go down.

  The up one came first, and I plopped her into it. Giving her a smile, I pressed my office level on the top floor. “Go back. Curl up in your basket. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

  She meowed again as the doors slowly closed.

  I whispered, “Don’t look at me like that. It hurts too much.”

  I hugged myself the moment she’d gone, feeling utterly alone and terrified.

  Why am I doing this?

  I should forget it and just go home.

  But then the down elevator pinged and waited for me to be brave and commit to one night away from Belle Elle.

  Hesitantly, fearfully, I stepped into it and prepared to become someone else.

  Someone free.

  Chapter Four

  EVERYTHING seemed different.

  Everything is different.

  The air tasted richer. The traffic sounded louder. The temperature felt cooler. Even the sensation of cheap vinyl around my shoulders and cushy sneakers on my feet was different.

  Nineteen years and this was the first time I’d been introduced to the world without finery or rules keeping me barricaded from living.

  I inhaled deep, coughing a little as a taxi spewed exhaust. The burn in my throat was so foreign to the filtered air of the Belle Elle building that I grinned rather than grimaced.

  The purse with its cash whispered to be spent, and my identification badge remained hidden in my pocket, reminding me who I was and how irresponsible I was being.

  I had no phone for Dad to contact me. No method of communication or way of calling for help if I got lost or into trouble.

  I was willing to put myself at risk just to live a little; to taste a different life to the one I’d been given.

  I couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t exhilarating, but it was also absolutely terrifying.

  Those first few steps away from Belle Elle physically hurt. The ache in my chest at disappointing my father hollowed me out until even my excitement at doing something new couldn’t fill.

  A few times, I second-guessed myself and almost turned around. I stopped, spun, and looked back at the huge hulking building where the shopping mega store was run.

  But then I reminded myself if I didn’t do this, I would never know what it was like to be normal. So I sucked it up, turned back around, and put one sneakered foot in front of the other, slowly entering the empire of downtown New York.

  Strangers bumped into me, tourists asked me to take their photograph, and street vendors yelled about their wares directly into my face.

  The sensory overload slowly eroded my shame for sneaking out and forced me to pay attention to every minor thing.

  For hours, I walked.

  I stared.

  I breathed.

  I let life take me wherever it wanted for a change. I had no idea where I was going or how to get back, but I let my feet get me lost because I had money to catch a taxi home. I knew my address—I wasn’t that sheltered. I could afford to go wherever I wanted, and at the end of my adventures hop in a cab and return with a new depth to my existence. And a secret I would happily harbor forever.

  At some point, I must’ve done a block and looped back on myself, so instead of turning left when I arrived at Times Square, I turned right and continued letting the city show me what I’d been missing.

  Flashing billboards tried to convince me I needed the latest Jeep and Hummer. Hollywood stars and starlets glowed in LED wonder with snippets of upcoming movies. Madame Tussauds promised wonders forever encapsulated in wax, and Ripley’s Believe It or Not! beckoned me to see things not common in everyday life.

  Walking past a souvenir shop, a bunch of clocks held up by mini Statues of Liberty showed I’d wandered for a while.

  Ten p.m.

  By now, if I’d stuck to my routine, I would be at home, fresh from a quick treadmill-run and shower. I would answer a few last-minute emails and crawl into bed to read the latest romance before my eyes closed and the e-reader bopped me on the head.

  Not tonight.

  Tonight, strangers smiled or yelled—depending if they wanted me to do something for them or get out of the way. I either moved too fast or too slow, unable to fall into the rhythm of the mismatched crowd I’d adopted. My jacket overheated me from walking and being cramped into streets with sweaty people made me claustrophobic. My feet
were flat, and my tummy was empty.

  But nothing could detract from how freeing and awe-inspiring every experience was.

  Turning another corner, I spotted a food truck promising the best Mexican this side of the border. Hadn’t one of my bucket list items been to eat from a street vendor?

  It might make you sick.

  Yes, it might. But food poisoning would be yet another adventure I’d long been denied. Pulling the purse from my pocket, I joined the queue and waited my turn. As I shuffled to the front, I craned my neck to look at the guy leering down in a grease-spotted apron.

  “What can I getcha?” He chewed a piece of gum, fingers twirling his pencil in impatience.

  I narrowed my eyes at the menu behind him. “Um, what do you recommend?”

  He scoffed. “Recommend? Lady, do I look like I have time to shoot the shit with you?” He pointed at the crowd behind me with his pencil. “Hurry up. I got paying people to feed.”

  I opened my wallet and pulled out a twenty. “I’ll just have something chicken.” I handed him the money. “Oh, and not hot. I don’t like spice.”

  “Got it.” He snorted. “Chicken and bland. Boring order for a boring girl.”

  I tensed. “Excuse me?”

  He looked me up and down. “Beat it, princess. Your order will be ready in five minutes. Pick-up is at the window down the truck.” He tossed me a dirty ten-dollar bill. “Here’s your change.”

  I curled my fingers around the money, annoyance and hurt making equal acid tracks inside me. I’d never been talked to that way. No one dared.

  The fact he’d called me boring, when I completely agreed with him, pissed me off even more. I wadded up the money and threw it at him. “Know what? Add a beef something or other to that order, too. And make it extra spicy.”

  I walked off toward the collection window before he could insult me anymore.

  Chapter Five

  THE BEEF WAS a bad idea.

  After collecting my dinner, I strolled toward Times Square where a few tables and chairs had been placed for milling pedestrians. The table was filthy, the chair rickety, but I’d never eaten with such vibrancy as my entertainment before.