“Staff.”
“That’s not a name.”
I shrug.
She tilts her head like she’s evaluating artwork. “Are you new?”
“Obviously.”
Not to be egotistical, but most people who see me remember me . . . even at a glance. It is what it is.
A slow, amused curve forms on her mouth. It seems she’s not used to someone answering her without bending a little.
“What’s your name?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
She laughs softly, but the wind carries the gentle sound to my ears. “Wow. Incredible bedside manner. I’m Victoria.”
Of course she is.
The Danforth heiress herself. The sole one. Seventeen. Rumored to be beautiful, prim, polite, homeschooled, and one stuffy, flawless day away from calcifying into another statue decorating these grounds.
I don’t look at her again. “Good for you.”
She leans even farther over the railing. “You always this friendly?”
“Friendliness isn’t in my job description.”
“Whatisin your job description?”
“Not talking to you.”
Her smile widens like I’ve just given her a gift.
Rich girls.
They just love to run toward the one person walking away.
Before she can respond, a voice snaps from inside the house. Sharp, irritated, older than the marble columns holding this place up.
“Victoria! Come inside. Now.”
Victoria’s eyes flick toward the open balcony doors, then back to me. Something mischievous sparks there. Something rebellious and reckless.
It strikes me that she’s different than the rumors suggest. So different that I’m shocked that no one has noticed it before.
Victoria ignores the call, still focused on me. “Are you going to be here all summer?”
“No.”
“You sound very sure.”
“I don’t plan on sticking around longer than I have to.”
“A shame.” Her voice drops into something almost . . . disappointed. “It’s boring here.”
“Sounds like a personal problem.”
