I’m about to rise to my feet when a familiar figure catches my eye through my peripheral vision. Senator Maxwell calls out to The Brass Guild’s hostess, ushering her to him as if Ruby were some kind of household pet. I stay seated in my booth and watch as the red-haired woman beams a bright smile at the senator, only to walk up to the stage afterward and whisper something in Scarlett’s ear before she has time to retreat backstage.
Scarlett’s guarded veil rises up as she offers Ruby a clipped nod. She then descends from her podium with all the elegance and confidence that my little church mouse usually hides away in the light of day. I grip my glass forcefully in my hand as she walks through the audience. Many stop to praise her talents while others just eye-fuck the hell out of her as she continues on her path.
When Scarlett reaches the senator’s table, she takes the empty seat next to him, his eyes hungrily traveling over her body before he leans in and hushes something into her ear. Scarlett doesn’t flinch when he runs a finger over her bare shoulder, but I’m not as immune to his lingering touch.
A glutton for punishment, I stew in my seat as I watch Tommyboy’s repulsive father fawn over Scarlett. His table is on the other side of the room, so it’s too far for me to hear what they are talking about, but I don’t need to be part of the conversation to get the gist of it. It’s obvious she’s caught the senator’s attention, and when his hand goes to grab Scarlett’s bare knee, it’s too much for me to take. I need to get the fuck away from here.
Scarlett is far from being an angel.
She’s just another paid temptress in this house of Jezebel.
I get up and walk away, forcing myself not to look back at the stomach-churning scene on the other side of the room. I rush through the halls in a furious daze when a glimpse of a familiar blonde breaks through my maddened vision.
“Kennedy?” I hush under my breath, perplexed as I try to catch up with the moving form.
It’s only when I turn the corner and see Jefferson chatting to one of the club’s girls that I realize he was the one I was stalking, instead of my dearest friend.
I must be fucking losing my mind if I’m seeing things now.
And it’s all Scarlett Davis’s fault.
“Easton?” he calls out as he sees me stranded in the middle of the large foyer. “I was wondering when you’d find this place,” he jokes, throwing a wink at the girl on his arm as he bridges the gap between us.
“I would have found it sooner if someone had the decency to tell me about it.”
“Sorry, East. Don’t hate me too much, though. This place is supposed to be kept on the down-low. I only got in myself a few months back because of Thomas. I guess adding my name to the list was his ‘welcome to the family’ gift.”
“Right,” I grunt at the reminder of another Maxwell asshole.
“It’s still pretty early. Are you leaving already?”
“I guess I’m not in the mood for what The Guild has to offer tonight,” I retort, not hiding the acrid taste still swimming in my mouth from what I just witnessed.
“How about a drink then? I haven’t spent time with you in ages. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen much of Lincoln and the boys either, aside from occasionally passing them by on campus.”
“We’ve been busy.”
“Too busy for a drink with an old friend?”
“Sure. Why the fuck not,” I huff out.
He playfully slaps the girl’s ass to usher her along the way and leads me to another large room of gambling tables with a bar at the end. We sit on our respective stools and order ourselves some bourbon, neat.
“This place is pretty hardcore, huh?” I mumble over to Jefferson as I take in the large amounts being gambled away.
I’ve seen most of these same sanctimonious pricks turn their noses up in the air whenever my mother asks them for donations for the few philanthropic projects she has going on. But here they are, those same fuckers, gambling away small fortunes that make their would-be donations look like pocket change.
“Just another night in Asheville,” he mocks, clinking his glass with mine.
I drink down the rich, smooth liquor all in one go. I slam my glass back on the counter before telling the bartender to keep them coming.
“Hmm. That kind of night, huh? Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“Okay, suit yourself. I’m more than happy just to drink and take in the scenery.” He chuckles, winking at one of the many scantily dressed escorts walking around the place.
“Okay, you want to talk, let’s talk. Why do you hang out with that dipshit, anyway? You’re not like Tommyboy at all, Jeff. So, what gives?”
He lets out a long exhale, not looking as eager as he was a second ago.
“He’s marrying my sister, East. He’s going to be my family.”
“Family doesn’t have to get along.” I scoff.
“Maybe not yours, but mine does. My father wants this marriage to work.”
“Is that why Ken is bent on marrying the douche? To be in daddy’s good graces?”
“Not everyone can have the luxury of snubbing their parents and still keep their inheritance. My father isn’t exactly the easygoing type. He likes things in their proper place. He has plans for our future. The senator being part of that plan,” Jefferson explains, looking stoic as ever.
“Sounds oddly cold to me.”
“Not cold. Pragmatic. We’re not like you. We don’t have heavy trust funds to fall back on.”
“Your father does alright.”
“Please.” He chuckles between sips. “My father is just another employee of the Richfield Foundation, and he hates himself for it.”
“Why? I never got why he dislikes the Richfields so much.”
It’s an honest assessment. It’s a well-known fact that the dean of Richfield University isn’t exactly the biggest fan of Lincoln and Colt’s family. Rumor has it that he only got the job because his late wife was best friends with Colt’s mother. The minute she died, his affection for the Richfields began to cool down. Aside from his position as dean, all ties were completely severed with the family when Lincoln’s prick of a brother offed himself.
“Asheville is a pretty small place. Most of our parents grew up with one another. It’s Northside nature to want to see others fail while you rise. Dad had his shot and lost it. Now Kennedy has hers, and he won’t make the same mistake.”
“It’s her life,” I defend heatedly, not liking the words coming out of Jefferson’s mouth. “Kennedy should be able to choose who she wants in it.”
“And she did. She picked Thomas.”
“What if she picked someone else?” I insist.
“She had, remember? He died.”
“Right.” My jaw ticks at the reminder.
“Everyone has a past, East. The best thing to do is just forget it and move on.”
Some of us can’t forget the past that was given to us.