One Night With The Heiress

Ari I have three basic rules for a proper night out. The dress has to be red, the drink has to be ice cold, and somebody has to be a little bit sorry by morning, preferably not me. Tonight, I am chewing four pieces of bubble gum at the same time, which is a lot of gum for one mouth, and I am doing it as loudly as I could, because the waiter standing in front of me looked like he wanted to say something about it and was far too scared to try. "Is there a problem?" I asked, and I blow a big pink bubble right in front of his face and let it pop. "No, Miss Sterling, no problem at all. It's only that you asked for a strawberry margarita, and this one is a strawberry daiquiri." "And that is different how?" He opens his mouth and close it again. I could see him searching for a polite way to explain the difference between two drinks to the one person in the club who has never needed to know it, and honestly I feel a little bad for him, so I take the glass from his hand, drink half of it in one go, and give it back. "It's fine. It tastes like strawberries. Bring me another one, but make it colder, and tell the DJ the song he's playing is boring." "I'll tell him, Miss Sterling." "Don't tell him like that, he'll cry. Tell him nicely, because he has feelings too." The waiter nodded like I had just given him a very serious mission and hurried off, and I slipped a folded bill into his apron pocket as he passed, so quickly that he didn't even notice until he is halfway across the room. I saw him stop, look down, and turn back with his eyes huge. I wave him away with two fingers and went back to my gum. "You're unbelievable," said Cam, who was stretched out beside me on the velvet sofa with her long legs crossed. "You are so rude to that poor man, and then you tip him a month of rent. Pick one, Ari." "I like being both." "Nobody likes you being both. They just don't know where to look." "They look at me. That's the whole point." She laughs, because she couldn't help it, and reach over to steal a piece of ice from my glass. Camille Rowe has been my best friend for six years, and in those six years she have move into my guest room for a weekend, then a month, and then it became just the room that had her things in it. Tonight she is wearing a silver dress that look very familiar, and when I look at it for a bit too long she smiled sweetly and said, "It looks better on me." "It's mine." "It was yours. Now it's ours, and I'm only borrowing it with love." I couldn't even argue, because she did look good in it. She always looked good in my things, and she knew it, and that was probably why I never asked for them back. The VIP section at Velvet is my favorite place in the whole city, and it was not hard to see why. The lights are low and gold, the music is loud enough to feel in my ribs, and from our sofa on the raised floor I could see everyone below me dancing and laughing and pretending not to look up. My hair was down tonight, long and black and heavy, and it had taken three hours to get right, so I made sure it moved properly every time I turned my head. I'm tall enough that I hardly need heels, though I wear them anyway, and I have my mother's pale skin and my father's dark eyes, a combination people tell me is a little dangerous. My red dress is exactly as short as I wanted it to be. Two tables over, a pair of girls had been watching me for twenty minutes. One was in green, looking super shy, and the other was in black, looking incredibly brave. I caught the brave one’s eye and give her a slow, deliberate wink over the rim of my glass. The shy girl literally dropped her phone on the table. The brave one just smile and lift her drink. I smile back, thinking, Oh, you look like a very good time. And then, a split second later: And I will absolutely forget your name by Thursday. "That's two casualties already," Cam murmur, not even looking up from her phone. "We've only been here an hour." "Have I been winking? I wasn't even counting." "I was. Someone has to keep score." "Why do you even care?" "Because I'm the one who has to listen to you complain all weekend when you get bored of them," she said, swirling her ice. "Or, you could just stop flirting with the entire room and let me have my weekends back." "But where is the fun in that?" I meant it, too. People think having a big appetite is a flaw, but the way I see it, I love women. I love the way they look when they want something, and I love being the person who gives it to them. I’ve never promised anyone forever, and I’ve never lied about it. I’m honest, I’m incredibly generous, and I am just very, very bad at staying. That’s the whole story. "Do you ever get tired of it, though?" Cam asked quietly. The playful tone completely left her voice, and she was looking at me with this strange, serious expression that made me forget to be funny for a second. "Tired of what?" "Never mind." Her bright, bubbly smile snapped right back into place, and she nudged my knee with hers. "Order me something ridiculously expensive. I'm in a mood to spend your money." "You are always in a mood to spend my money." "And you always let me." She had me there. I raised two fingers to catch the waiter's eye and pointed at the most expensive bottle on the menu. Cam literally squeal and plants a wet kiss on my cheek. That's just how she is a bit of a barnacle, but I adore her. Suddenly, my phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up with the name Antonio Florist. I keep the agency's number saved like that because I like my scandalous secrets to look like a high end florist on my lock screen. Look, I’m not the type of girl who needs to pay for company, let’s get that straight. But I absolutely loathe the messy morning after. The phone number left on a napkin, the random flowers arriving at my house, the girl crying because I forgot she existed... It's exhausting. Antonio’s agency is just tidy. It’s high end, completely discreet, and everyone enters the room knowing exactly what the night is and what it isn't. A few elite families in this city use it, and mine is one of them, though my parents would actually drop dead if they found out. 'Good evening, Miss Sterling. A beautiful new girl joined us this week, and the second I saw her, I knew she was exactly your flavor. She has this gorgeous, sweet energy that is just begging for someone as deliciously wicked as you to take charge and completely wear her out. Have fun tonight, Ari. Back lounge at midnight? As always, total discretion.' "Another one?" Cam asked, unashamedly reading over my shoulder. "Don't be nosy, darling." "You definitely have a type," she teased. "It's called 'people I never have to text back.'" "It’s called being efficient." I slid my phone into my clutch, check my lipstick in the reflection of my screen, and feel that familiar feeling wash over me, lazy, confident, and a tiny bit bored. I told myself I liked being bored. I really did. That’s the thing I remember most vividly about those last eight minutes before midnight– just how much I wanted to stay bored.