Chapter 1
Gail
“ A re you sure that’s what you want?”
I spin around in the chair dramatically and point at my dull, light brown hair. “Look at this mess, Luce. I’ve had the same hairstyle all the years you’ve known me. So yes, I’m sure. I need a change. Scratch that; I’m desperate for a change.” The last part comes out as more of a grumble.
It’s time, though. Time for a fresh start, or at the very least, a new haircut and color. I’ve spent all my life taking the safe route at every turn. I’m the girl who did my homework right away, who studied her butt off and barely partied in college. When I got my first teaching job, I created a budget that was so limited I put about forty percent of my paycheck into my savings account.
Apart from some one-night-stands and weekly tequila nights with my bestie, the wildest thing I’ve ever done is pierce my ears and have exactly five non self-induced orgasms in my life. I’m not just a goody two-shoes, I’m boring. Boring and so predictable you can set your clock by my behavior.
“Fine,” Lucia, my best friend and former roommate, laughs while holding her hands up in a placating gesture. “And just for the record, I think you’re going to rock this Cruella de Vil look.”
I burst out laughing at the mention of the Disney villain. “What can I say,” I giggle. “She’s an inspiration to everyone.”
Mika returns after mixing the dye and promptly begins to part my hair. “So, are you wanting it to part in the middle? Or some zig-zag?”
“The middle,” I reply.
Without another word, she perfectly divides my freshly cut hair. I find it difficult to make myself look as she coats one side in the black dye and the other in the white. The annoying voice in the back of my head pipes up, telling me I’m going to regret this. I swallow hard, praying I won’t.
“So, what’s the reason for this drastic change?” Luce asks, meeting my eyes in the mirror.
“Right, I’ll be back to check on you later,” Mika announces. “Just holler if you need anything.”
With her gone, I turn back to Luce, anxiously wringing my hands in front of me. “Remember when I told you the school was firing teachers because of budget cuts?”
Lucia’s eyes widen. “No!” she gasps. “You got fired? When? Why?” She pauses the unrelenting stream of questions, her green eyes darkening. “That’s their fucking loss, sugar. You’re the best. They’ll soon realize the mistake they made, and then they’ll beg you to come back, and—”
“Shut up, buttercup,” I laugh. Seriously, Lucia is the best, always jumping to my defense.
“When did it happen?” she asks, tilting her head to the side while scrutinizing me in that annoying way that tells me she’s put more together than I want her to.
This is the part I didn’t really want to tell her. It happened while I stayed with my brother, after abandoning Luce when she needed me the most. Yeah, I totally let my bestie down and selfishly took a timeout. I didn’t mean to, it just sort of happened.
I never thought she could say or do anything that would make me need time away from her, but it happened. Finding out she had kept so many secrets for the ten years we’d known each other was quite the shock. And if I’m completely honest, learning she comes from a Mafia family was scary as hell.
My dad and brother work in law enforcement, and when you spend enough time around a police officer and a detective, you end up with a healthy respect for the law. At least I did.
“It happened just a few days after I left our apartment and stayed with Jamie,” I whisper, almost hoping she won’t hear me and that we can just move on.
“What the hell?” she shrieks, standing so abruptly I jerk back in my chair. “Abigail Rosie Wilson, I’m so livid with you. How could you not tell me?”
I momentarily consider standing, but decide against it. Luce is at least one inch taller than me, and she’s wearing killer heels today. So even if I get out of the chair, she’ll still be towering over me, which I know she’ll use to her full advantage to stare me down. Something I’m refusing to play into. Not for any particular reason other than I don’t feel like making it easy for her to scold me.
“Calm your tits, Luce,” I mumble. “We weren’t exactly talking. Besides, I’m telling you now.”
Unbothered by the dye in my hair, she bends and hugs me tightly. “You have no idea how much I want to shout at you for keeping this a secret,” she accuses. “But I’m not that much of a hypocrite. So let’s focus on what you need. We have a spare room if you want—”
She stops talking when I scrunch up my face. “No thanks,” I say before I can stop myself. But seriously, she and her husband Sawyer can barely keep their hands off each other. No way am I going to live with them. “I’ll be fine. I’m not officially unemployed until January first, so I have time to figure something out.”
My best friend’s eyebrows furrow, her fierce green eyes studying me with such focus that I actively have to stop myself from fidgeting. “Sure… two days. Do you have anything lined up?” she asks, predictably.
“Oh, you know,” I say with a shrug. “I have my feelers out.”
“Abigail!”
For one of the first times in my life, I wish Luce didn’t know me as well as she does. Because she knows my vagueness means I have nothing.
“Fine,” I say, exasperated, as I throw my arms up in the air. “I’ve been working a few jobs.”
“What jobs?” she asks, perfectly matching my tone.
I shrug. “Some hostess stuff.”
“Hostess stuff?” I can’t blame her for sounding incredulous. Luce knows I’d rather die than work in a restaurant or bar.
“Yup,” I say with a nod. “The tips are great.” And by great, I mean life-changing-unbelievably-fucking-great.
“Gail…” Lucia pauses and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Can we make a new agreement?”
I nod hesitantly. “Maybe.”
“If we don’t want to talk about something, we say so. No more lies, please. Not between us.” Her plea is so heartfelt I feel guilty for keeping my new job a secret from her.
“I want to tell you,” I whisper, looking around. “But it’s… hard.”
She gives me a look that tells me how little she cares about that, and I’m oddly grateful to know she’s going to get it out of me. Sometimes it’s hard for me to open up, and I need Luce’s brand of force to loosen up.
“Gail, I swear. If you’re not—”
“Simmer down,” I sigh. My mind is a chaotic maze, my thoughts tumbling over each other in a jumble that makes no sense.
My brain is pulling me in so many different directions I struggle to find the right words to tell my best friend the truth—the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. On the one hand, I want to tell her. But on the other hand, I’m irrationally worried she’s going to judge me. Yeah, did I mention I’m not making any damn sense?
“Look, I’ll tell you, okay? Just not here,” I say, deliberately making the promise so I can’t weasel out of it later. “There are just too many things.”
The weight of keeping these secrets from her is crushing me, especially since she has always been my confidant, my rock in stormy seas. My heart aches as I remember how easily she kept secrets from me in the past, and though I have forgiven her, the memory still stings.
But Luce is the one person in this world that I trust with every fiber of my being, and the thought of jeopardizing our friendship terrifies me. Yet I know that if I don’t come clean, things will only spiral further out of control. It’s now or never, and I must find the courage to reveal my truth before it’s too late.
She beams. “Our usual haunt?”
“Where else?” I grin back.
“O’Jackie’s,” we say in unison.
While I still have an eternity to go before my hair is done, they call Luce away as it’s time for her appointment. It sucks they couldn’t sit us together. To entertain myself, I pull my phone out and mindlessly open my socials.
I’m tagged in a picture of a huge champagne bottle that Luce posted a few hours ago. The caption reads: Even though we prefer tequila, we’ll make an exception on New Year’s Eve. #SabertoothsKnowHowToParty #BestiePower.
Laughing, I like it and open the comments. There are thousands; fans wishing her and her husband, the Sabertooths forward, a happy New Year. I’m just about to shut down the app when I see that Mickey and Soren, Sawyer’s two best friends, and fellow hockey players, have commented, both of them expressing their regret that they can’t be there.
Since I’m not going either, their words are inconsequential, but the way my body reacts to them isn’t. Suddenly, I feel hot, like there isn’t enough air in the room, and my core clenches. Fuck. Those two are trouble. I’ve known that since I was drinking alone with them less than two weeks ago.
Seriously, that night might go down in history as number one on my list of epic fails. I should have said yes, but I wasn’t able to. My other… commitments had to take priority, sadly.
As I think about said commitments, I open my email. There’s no update about my gig for New Year’s Eve, which I take as a good sign. I click on the confirmation and read through the entire thread for the millionth time.
Dear Abigail Wilson,
We received your email regarding updating your preferences for working at the Cupid’s Court on New Year’s Eve.
Per our previous emails, we were already pleased to accept you as one of our floor girls. However, only a few hours ago, we received a client request that aligns perfectly with your updated availability.
We have taken the liberty of accepting on your behalf with reservation.
Please read through the attached booking requirements, which include wardrobe expectations and any specific instructions from our clients.
Pay extra attention to the indicated number of gentlemen asking for your company on page two of the attachment.
We look forward to hearing from you.
Cupid’s Court
Even reading the email is making me blush like a schoolgirl. Well, not exactly like a schoolgirl. My heated cheeks have nothing to do with shyness, it’s all due to anticipation.
By now, I’ve memorized the clothing requirements, which were easy. After I accepted the gig, they outlined the items I needed to purchase and what will be provided. The mask I’m expected to wear will be waiting for me when I’m picked up, so the only items I had to buy were the lacy, crotchless thong and a matching black bra.
Now, with my new hair, I’m more than ready. For them—the faceless men who have bought me—and for a night of debauchery where I can shed my good girl image.