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“Is that what he does?” she asks, slowly making her way around my bedroom and pausing every few seconds to study an area on the corkboard.
I chuckle. “No, not exactly. I mean, it’s one of his hobbies. He has multiple hobbies, but his main job is, well, more complicated than that.” Pulling out my phone, I swipe through Instagram and see posts from Harvey’s house. He throws parties every single time his parents are out of town, and since his mom travels a lot for her book tours, we’re there often.
“He has Lenny doing something. Should I be worried?” When she looks directly at me with her wide, doe eyes, I want to say no. I want to say that whatever he is doing, you won’t lose him. But I don’t want to lie to her.
“Knock, knock, bitches!” Betty shoves my door open, carrying a box filled with what I’m guessing is alcohol. “The party is here.” Poppy blinks up at the door, and just when I think she’s going to get scared and crawl into a hole, away from my extremely extroverted bestie, her face beams with a smile and she stands to her feet.
“I’m Poppy.”
Betty pauses, slowly lowering the carton of alcohol onto the desk while side-eyeing Poppy. “You are cute… damaged, but cute.”
Poppy seems unfazed by Betty’s judgment. “The damage is here to stay.” I’m hoping one of these days she will open up and tell me what happened, but I’m not counting on it.
Betty tosses a bottle at her. “Drink, and then we leave.” I take one out of her hands.
“We’ve got Oscar on our ass.”
Betty whines, flopping down onto the chair and crossing her legs. “Papa doesn’t want to let up?”
“Nope.” I scoop up what I’m wearing tonight. A simple tight black dress that hugs my pinched waist and splayed-out hips. The thin spaghetti straps over ample cleavage spill out the top, and the bottom comes just over my knee. Not too short, but tight and revealing where it counts. It’s also easy to cover up with a big jacket to get out of the house. After scrubbing up in the shower while sipping on my mixer, I squeeze the dress on and head back out to my room, smiling when I see Betty making more effort with Poppy. Poppy hides her pain in a way that is obvious. If Papa raised her, she’d be better at it.
“You wearing the boots?” Betty calls out from my bedroom as I shuffle through my walk-in closet.
I skip past all the designer shit and pull out my vintage boots I scored on Etsy. They’re black leather military style but have a thick platform on the soles. They tie up to mid-calf, and bonus points because they’re worn into comfort.
I walk out, brushing my hair to the side when both Poppy and Betty stare back at me.
Poppy’s smile is wide enough to show that she and her brother either both got braces or they’re truly just graced with great genetics. “You have to be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
“Now, I would take offense to that—” Betty pushes up from the bed and hooks her arm around the back of my neck. “But everyone knows this girl is deadly. I’m saying it’s her—” She waves her arms around. “Perfect concoction of ethnicities.”
I shove her away gently, emptying the rest of my drink down my throat. “I’ll drive.”
Betty rolls her eyes for the second time in thirty minutes. “What happened to drinking tonight?”
“I can!” I snatch my keys off the counter. “Oscar can drive it back.”
Poppy hangs back a little, and it’s not until we’re outside waiting for one of the soldiers to drive my car around from the underground garage that I turn to face her. “We don’t have to go tonight. We can stay back and watch movies? Honestly, I’m over high school parties.”
Our home is right in the city of Chicago on North Burling Street. With twenty-five thousand square feet and high concrete walls and black wired gates, my father keeps a lot of his business underground while remaining the perfect infrastructure on the outside. The dirtiest men I know are the ones who appear clean.
She shakes her head gently, running her hands down the shirt she’s paired with skinny jeans. “No, I want to.”
“Okay, well, if you ever want to leave—” I hear my DB 11 purr as it stops in front of us. “We can leave. Any time.” I don’t know Poppy’s story, so it’s hard to gauge whether I’m doing the right thing. She has to be around our age, with her brother a little older, so I’m guessing she’s old enough to make those decisions on her own.
Betty pulls the door open and leans the chair forward. “Slide in, pretty girl.”
Poppy slips to the back and I look over my shoulder until my eyes collide with a black Rolls Royce that’s coming up the drive. It’s not Papa’s Rolls that’s a distraction, though. It’s the car behind his.
My smile falls and I quickly slide into the driver’s seat, slamming the door closed and driving us down the long driveway.
“You okay? Was that Mikhail?”
My heart stammers in my chest as I suck in deep breaths. “Yes.”
Betty’s hand rests on mine without a word spoken. It’s why Betty and I have always worked. She knows when to speak and when to not. Friendships can be tricky because so many people don’t know how to respect those boundaries, so I’m lucky I have Betty who does.
Tapping the accelerator down faster as we move onto the main road off our gated home, I bring my eyes to the rearview mirror. “So, Poppy, whereabouts are you from?”
