Page 3 of London Dynasty

I pressed a palm to my forehead as the first throb hit. “Yeah. I think that’s it. Do you know her?”

“Do I know Kerrigan Belmond?” She laughed at the question, staring at me like I was playing a prank on her.

I shook my head to let her know I had no idea why she found this amusing. “Who is she?”

“Socialite. Family is worth a fortune.”

“What do they do?” I asked. No wonder the guys had acted like idiots. I couldn’t imagine a socialite working at the Hare & Hound. I couldn’t even imagine a socialite in West Bexby.

“The internet or railroads or something.” She sighed as if to say it didn’t matter how they’d gotten rich, only that they were.

Her sigh mirrored my own feelings. It wasn’t fair that some people had everything while I was gambling on lottery tickets to pay my electricity bill.

“I can deal with them,” I promised her.

“You let me know if they step over the line again, though?”

I nodded as I backed out of the kitchen and turned toward the bar. The guys were probably too busy spewing their celebration all over their social media accounts to care about me, but I studiously avoided looking their way. I was reaching for the first glass when Sheila dropped a fifty-pound note on the worn wooden counter.

“Those boys left, said to give you this,” she told me. “They also said sorry about the picture.” Sheila waited for me to explain myself.

“Thanks,” I grabbed the money and shoved it in my pocket instead.

Sheila huffed away. I had no idea what annoyed her more: that I hadn’t explained what had happened or that I’d been rewarded with a massive tip for doing absolutely nothing. All I knew what that having my photograph taken was a small price to pay for an easy fifty pounds. I dashed in the back to give it to Eliza.

“Nice!” She pushed it back toward me after I explained what happened. “Keep it for a rainy day.”

“Okay,” I said, deciding to slip it into her pocket when she wasn’t looking. There was no way I would let her cover my share of rent while I kept this, but I knew better than to try to argue with her.

“Hey, check this out,” She turned her phone toward me. “You really do look like Kerrigan Belmond. If you put on some make-up, you could be her twin.”

I took the mobile and scrolled through the socialite’s account photos. She’d documented her life and posted it on the internet for all to see. I could see what the men and Eliza were talking about. We did look a little alike, but it was more than just the make-up that set us apart. Every picture was oozing the elite life she enjoyed. In one, she was sipping champagne stretched across a chaise lounge, the Mediterranean providing a stunning backdrop. In another, she was blowing a kiss behind the wheel of a Roadster. Picture after picture showcased her in designer clothes living a life I could only dream of. I scrolled to the top and read her bio. There wasn’t much, just a passing mention of recently graduating from Oxford and the link to some philanthropy. As far as I could tell, her whole life was spent taking things off silver platters and lowering herself for the occasional charity work. It was as far from my life as I could imagine. I wasn’t even sure I could imagine something that wild. I bet Kerrigan had never worried about an electricity bill in her life.

“I guess I should be flattered,” I said for Eliza’s benefit as I passed back her phone.

“She’s probably a bitch,” Eliza said. “What do you want to bet?”

I waved the cash I was still holding. “How about fifty pounds?”

“Nice try, Kate,” she said with a laugh. “Tell you what? Let’s stop at Tesco and buy ourselves the cheapest champagne we can find. We can drown our lowly sorrows and take selfies drinking out of plastic cups.”

I couldn’t help smiling at that. Tomorrow was Sunday, and the pub would be closed. We might as well have a little fun. I suspected Kerrigan Belmond would agree.

Fifty pounds bought us three bottles of cheap wine and a week’s worth of cheap groceries. The groceries lasted until the following morning; the wine did not. I woke the next morning to a pounding headache and sun streaking through the blackout curtains I’d failed to close in my drunken haze. It took a minute for me to process that the pounding wasn’t just in my head. I heard Eliza yell something, her voice muffled by the walls between us. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and checked the time, groaning when I saw it was only a quarter to nine. Meanwhile, the pounding continued. I had no idea what wanker showed up to beat down a door on a Sunday morning, but I knew they either had a poor sense of timing or a keen sense of torture. Untangling my legs from the sheets, I pushed myself up a bit too fast, which earned me a brain-splitting slice of pain behind my eyes.

“I’m coming,” I yelled to the unwanted guest at the door.

This had better be good.

Chapter Three

As soon as my fingers closed over the lock, I hesitated. Whoever was pounding this loudly was both pissed and strong. After a moment, I turned the lock but not the chain. I opened the door as far as the chain would allow and peeked outside. Two dark eyes stared back at me, glaring through the crack.

“Can I help you?” I asked, coating the words with as much rudeness as possible.

He cleared his throat with obvious annoyance. “Do you work at the Hare & Hound?”

“I’m sorry. What is this about?” I asked. If he was going to answer my question with a question, I would do the same. I had no idea what had brought him to my door, but he was in no posi