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"Hayden Kingston."
"Mr. Kingston, we're calling about unusual spending activity on your Black Amex card." Urgency drips from her tone. Little does she know, it's just my fake girlfriend going on a mandatory spending spree. A certain hunger sparks within me as I imagine her swiping my card.
"How much?"
"Thirty thousand in the last two hours. At the department stores Gucci, Saks Fifth Avenue, and Dior."
My pulse spikes. Did she listen to a word I said? "Thank you. That's just my girlfriend. Please, reinstate the card," I say, before hanging up the phone and immediately dialing Juliana. Her sweet voice answers on the second ring.
"Hey, sorry, they said the card declined. I think I went overboar—"
"Are you shopping in the clearance sections? You should've spent one-hundred thousand by now, at least."
The line goes silent for several heartbeats. "What did you just say? I think I heard you wrong."
I pinch the bridge of my nose. "One. Hundred. Thousand, Juliana. Six digits, you should be there by now. What, did you decide to swing by the price club? You're not leaving Fifth Avenue until you've hit three hundred thousand."
"Three hundred—what? That's insane. I can't—"
"Yes, you can. And you will." Possession crackles along my skin, bordering dangerously close to anger, when memories of her old apartment flash across my vision. "Every rack in that closet better be full, or I'm sending you back tomorrow."
"Have you completely lost your mind?" Yes, what of it? "We've got more bags than we can carry."
"What store are you at?"
"Uhhh... Louuu... Louuuie Voten..." she tries again, spreading a smile across my lips so wide my cheeks hurt. "Louis Vuitton." There you go, baby. "Why do you ask?"
I put her on speaker and zoom through my contacts. "Because I'm sending more personal shoppers. They'll carry your bags and bring them to the house for you."
More silence.
"Got that?"
"Yes," she whispers through the line, emotions caught in her throat.
"Oh, and Juliana?"
"Yeah?"
My gaze lands on my brother's office door. "Buy something business-y while you're at it."
TWENTY-ONE
JULIANA
Shop till you drop.
I've always found that to be a ridiculous expression, a gross exaggeration made by overly dramatic fashionistas. No one actually exerts that much energy while shopping, of all things, or wastes that much time at the mall. It just feels like they did.
Well, I'm officially here to set the record straight about all those rich housewives, living it up in The Hamptons...
They. Must. Be. CRIPPLED.
"Uuughhhh," Mei groans beside me on the couch.
Much like myself, compared to when we stepped into the first store, she looks positively wrecked. Her hair's a mess, her knee-high boots discarded on the floor, as she slouches over the armrest, wrapped in a black-and-gold Versace blanket, which cost a cool thirteen-hundred dollars. One of her several thank-you gifts from today.
"Tell me about it," I mumble, sinking farther down the couch. "My whole body aches."
