CHAPTER TWO

I love my sister with all that I am, and if she'd ask me to help bury a body, I would do it without blinking. We've done it before.

But I hate the attention she generates wherever she goes.

I always knew she wasn't meant to be stuck in the small town we come from. She's too vivacious, meant for much bigger things than that shithole.

What I hate about her, though? The attention, I despise the attention.

With attention comes grave diggers. And we have skeletons in our closet that I would like to stay buried.

So I'm slightly pissed off as Sammy and I follow her behind a bouncer that came to escort us to the VIP section. She could have declined. This is supposed to be my party, after all. Aren't I the one who should make the decisions?

I have to admit the VIP area is nice, though. The volume of the music isn't so loud up here, even though you can still look down and see the whole club underneath. The couches look plump and welcoming, and oh my gosh, is that a celebrity?

"Oh my god!" Sammy clutches my arm. "That's the guy from that movie we saw the other night!"

Indeed it is.

"Jeez!" Phoebe fans her face. "I should come visit more often."

No, please don't.

I take a long sip of my drink because I'm suddenly feeling extremely nervous. And I don't get nervous, not even when I have to take a very difficult test.

This is a whole other level. These people aren't frat boys trying to get into your pants because their friends dared them to or that pervy guy who works at the supermarket with me and Sammy.

No, these people reek of money and art and sophistication. And we're way out of our league here.

I still have that tingling feeling at the base of my spine of being watched. I look around me, but unlike downstairs on the main floor, everyone in here is attractive and dynamic, and we're not garnering any attention at all.

So why am I feeling like I'm up on a pedestal for the world to view?

"Ladies." A charming man dressed in all black approaches us with a slick smile. "Welcome to The Phoenix. It's our utmost pleasure to have you here. Please follow me to your table."

Sammy looks at me in disbelief, and I share her sentiment. Things like this don't happen to the two of us. For more than a year, we've been scrambling to earn as much money as possible to be able to afford the small studio apartment we share. We basically live off ramen noodles and tap water, our morning coffee, the only luxury we allow ourselves.

Our table is a lush booth, and the seat is more comfortable than the ratty bed I own. Maybe we'd be so lucky tonight that we can take it home and throw our old couch out.

If it wasn't for Phoebe's confidence strutting through the place like we belong there, we would've stuck out like a sore thumb. We look good. She made sure of that, but everyone else was dripping in designer wear and diamonds.

I've never felt the effect of my poverty like I do now.

"Everything you want to drink is on the house. A waitress will be with you shortly." The guy winks at us before he leaves.

This life has made me smart enough to know that nothing is ever on the house. Everything has a price, so what is the price for us being picked out of a crowd and entertained?

Sex.

I bet it's sex.

It's always sex.

"Can you believe this!" Phoebe exclaims with excitement dancing in those green eyes that look back at me in the mirror every day.

"No, I can't, because it's not real." I shake my head at her. "If anything dodgy starts happening, we're out of here. Understood?"

"Way to ruin the fun sissy!" She rolls her eyes dramatically at me. "It's your birthday, loosen up a little. You know I won't let anything happen to you."

Yes, I do know that.

I try to relax, I do, I even laugh at Sammy, who is clearly enjoying herself. It's good, too. The two of us never go out except to go to class and to work. I love seeing her on the dance floor with Phoebe acting like someone our age should act.

Maybe Phoebe was right a little bit. College life should be about having more fun. If college is over, what then? We look for jobs, maybe we won't have to work crazy hours at the supermarket anymore. Does life start then?

I look around again. There's a guy at the bar looking at me, but when our eyes meet he lifts his glass in greeting and I don't feel that sense of awareness that's been plaguing me ever since we were at the bar downstairs.

Ever since that incident when I was a child, I've been on guard. Always.

Nobody gets close to me without my permission. I sometimes wonder how Phoebe can be so carefree or if it's only a facade she puts on. Or maybe it's her way with dealing with the shitshow of a childhood we were given.

A stunning waitress looking like a model approaches our table, carrying a tray of glasses with champagne. I can see the disdain in her eyes when she deposits three glasses onto the table.

Why are we in here, and she has to work.

Jealousy has been following me everywhere I go.

Girls are jealous because of the way I look, like I chose this face and body. If it were up to me, I would look bland just so I could stop having to prove myself every single day.

You know what's the worst? When people are jealous because of my brain. I work so hard, I study every chance I get, yet I'm still not respected in my field. People still think I get handed everything on a silver platter when the opposite is true.

Looking the way I do has it's perks sometimes, like right now I'm sipping on real champagne and even though I don't allow myself the luxury of drinking I have to admit this shit is good.

And the view of my sister and best friend dancing and enjoying themselves is even better.

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

I look up into a beautiful face with a blindingly white smile. Here we go.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Depends on who's asking."

I'm sure this is the part where I'll be propositioned with sex, drugs, alcohol and a good time.

"Ooh, spicy! I like that." The stranger's smile gets wider if that's even possible.

Just like everyone else in the VIP area, he's dressed in obviously very expensive clothes, diamond studs glittering in both his ears, his mocha skin smooth, and gorgeous. I'm sure he gets all the girls.

"Yeah. that's what she said." I reply sarcastically, and he throws his head back and laughs.

Phoebe says I should work on my people skills, I think my people skills are perfectly fine.

"Does that smart mouth come with a name, perhaps?" He continues, even though I'm clearly telling him off.

I open my mouth to give him another sarcastic reply, but before the words come out, a big, strong hand comes out and slaps my suitor hard on the chest.

My eyes trace the arm dressed in a simple white button-down shirt and black slacks, yet screaming power and elegance to a face so beautifully chiseled it would make the Greek gods cry.

My heart starts beating frantically at the mere presence of this man until my eyes meet his chocolate brown ones and the organ damn near dies from overbeating.

"My friend here was just leaving."