Page 27

I simmer in a combination of anger and sexual frustration all afternoon, and force myself to put the book down. If I don’t get ready now I’ll be late, and I hate being late.

The weather outside looks about as grim as my mood is right now, the collar of the tuxedo is suffocating. This isn’t me, stuffed in a suit trying to impress people. I impress with my work and my skills. Being a socialite isn’t one of my skills. It’s more of a pet peeve.

Years of being the poor kid at a rich kid school will make you hate humans, it will teach you to claw and fight for status. It taught me that if I don’t work fucking hard, I won’t have money, and without money life is infinitely harder. There are no shortcuts, there is no middle ground — you either have enough or you don’t.

I pull on the jacket of the expensive suit, fix the pocket hanky and look at my reflection in the mirror. Not too bad for the boy from the wrong side of town. I can’t help but wonder if this is what Olivia wants, a man in a tux with money and fancy things. She is high society, fame and wealth.

She wrote a fucking book about me. I’m still simmering with anger, and yet I would do anything to stay in and read the rest of it. Damnit, is this what it feels like to lose your mind?

Deep breaths. I calm my nerves and my rage at being the fictional fuckboy. Tonight I need to be the confident, personable businessman. Tonight I am the lie. The real me would rather be getting my hands dirty on a building site than rubbing shoulders with this crowd.

I’m tempted to read a few more pages, but I’m saved by the honk of the car waiting for me outside. The driver fetched Birdie first, who’s wiggling in her seat when I get in.

“I’m so excited!” I’m not, so at least one of us is. “Did you look at the auction?”

Paige did it for me, I wasn’t interested. I’m still not.

“No, Paige did.”

“I know she’s bidding on something for me,” Birdie says with glee. “With your money though, I’m not that flush.” It doesn’t bother me, whatever she bids on makes us look good and I don’t need anything. I’m also not averse to spoiling my sister when the mood strikes. I may be cranky, but I still like buying things for Bird if it makes her happy.

“That’s fine,” I reply as the driver pulls away.

“I can’t believe they have signed Cecilia Lloyd books, including her newest release! She doesn’t sign books! But apparently the organizer is a personal friend of hers.” My heart stops, and I can see her mouth moving but the words aren’t making their way into my ears. She said Cecilia Lloyd. That’s Olivia. And her newest release is about me!

“I doubt she’ll be there, though. She doesn’t do events,” Birdie keeps on. “But imagine how cool it would be if she is.”

No. Not cool. Not at all. Not after what I read this afternoon. I shoot Paige a text.

You had better win the bid on the books. No limit, just get them.

Not for Birdie. For me. For this raging fucking anger inside me so I can burn the damn things. It’s going to be impossible to be nice to anyone tonight, and I find myself hoping against all hope that Olivia/Cecilia Lloyd won’t be there.

The current bid is over a hundred k. Are you insane?

Just get them.

Is this because of her?

Paige, get the fucking books.

I will try. BE.NICE.HARLAN.