Chapter 4
THE LITTLE BIRDS
EMERY
The pink and blue neon lights outside the club flicker onto the sidewalk, my pulse quickening as I stand there, staring at the entrance. Lux. What the…? I double check the address. No, this isn’t right. This is wrong. This is the wrong address.
I look for my cab, but it’s already gone. I glance back at the shining bright sign, a faint bass thumping from inside. My heart beats to the rhythm of the music, and a part of me, doesn’t want to leave.
Absentmindedly, I float through the front doors, as if I’m being pulled inside by a sinful magnet.
I've never been to a strip club before, never even considered it, but tonight is different.
Tonight, there's a voice inside my head whispering that this is where I need to be.
The dim lights, the heavy scent of perfume and sweat, the sultry atmosphere—it intoxicates me in a way liquor never has.
My heart races as I glance around, overwhelmed by the heat and smoke.
Men and women sit around small tables, their eyes fixed on the stage where a beautiful woman is dancing.
Her movements are so mesmerizing, sensual and artistic.
She exudes confidence and power, unapologetically owning her body and the attention she commands.
I watch her in complete and total awe. There's something liberating about the way she moves, a freedom that I've never allowed myself to experience.
For a moment, I'm entranced, forgetting about the fresh scar between my breasts, about all the doctors and machines and probing.
About everything. It's as if I stepped into a different world. A world where rules don’t exist and desires are embraced.
I notice a small flyer tacked onto the wall near the entrance. "HIRING: Performers Wanted.” Excitement rushes through me. I haven’t felt excited in years.
I glance back at the dancer on stage, and her eyes lock with mine. She flashes me a knowing smile as if sending me a silent message of encouragement. And a strange voice in my head purrs, “You belong here, Emery. You—”
“Wakey wakey!”
I gasp, holding my chest as Sophie hovers over my bedside, beaming with extraverted energy.
“Oh, excellent, you’re awake!” She takes a step back, allowing me to breathe and gather my bearings. What is she doing here?! Sophie checks her watch. “You’ve got five minutes to get dressed, Emery. The chopper is waiting for us. We’re already late.”
I blink rapidly at her, still groggy. “I’m sorry, but what?”
“Shop-ping,” Sophie enunciates each syllable as if I were a child learning to speak.
She points to my empty closet. “Remember? Yesterday? Wardrobe emergency? No clothes?” She narrows her eyes when I don’t reply.
“The Gala? It’s tomorrow. You need a dress.
Plus, perhaps some outdoor attire?” She glances at the dress I arrived in last night. “Unless you fancy skiing in satin?”
“I—”
“Five minutes! Chop-chop!” She claps her hands at me. “The boutiques in Perreau Hills open at 10 a.m. I don’t wish to be late.”
“Perreau Hills?”
Sophie sighs. “It’s a charming town not an hour from here. You’ll adore it there! We’ll shop, get some lunch, and be back just in time for supper.”
Dread washes over me. “You want to spend the whole day…shopping?”
Her smile damn near blinds me. “Precisely. Plus, it’ll give us some alone time.” She wiggles her brows. “I have many questions for you. So very many.” She doesn’t let my deflated reaction ruin her mood. “Right. I’ll see you in the courtyard in five!”
When my bedroom door slams shut, I toss my legs out of bed and storm toward the adjoining room. This is ridiculous. When did I agree to this? She can’t just—
“Wake up!” I rattle Quinton’s shoulder as he lightly snores. “Quin!” Nothing. Not even a twitch. Damn, he’s a sound sleeper. “Quin! Wake the fuck up!” I shove his shoulder aggressively until his eyes spring open, alert and startled. “Quin!”
“What?!” He jerks out of bed, fists curled and ready for battle. Idiot. This is a battle he’ll lose. “What’s wrong?!”
“Your sister,” I cross my arms, glaring at him, “wants to go shopping for nine hours. Just the two of us.” I pause, refusing to let my gaze linger on his bare, muscular chest. I clear my throat. “Fix it.”
“What?” Quin rubs his eyes, processing. “Shopping? That’s the reason for this dramatic wake-up call?” He shakes his head at me, pretending to be frustrated, but I can see that stupid cheeky grin. “Christ, darling, I thought there was a fire or some sort of real emergency.”
I glare at him. “This is an emergency. Nine hours, Quinton. Nine! You may not know this about me, but I’m not fantastic with people.” I pause, slightly embarrassed. “Let alone women. So, yes, nine hours with your sister? Definitely an emergency.”
Quin tilts his head, his lips curling into an amused smile. “Emery, my sister is harmless. In fact, she can be quite endearing once you get to know her.”
“It’s not her that I’m worried about,” I admit, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “I’m not particularly a friendly person. I know my strengths, and people aren’t one of them.”
“Nonsense.” Quinton reaches over and caresses my hand. “You’re an excellent people person.” He flashes me a disarming smile. “I’m people, and I find you incredibly charming.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s because you want to fuck me, Quin. I doubt your sister shares the same intentions.”
“First of all, I already did fuck you,” he coos, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on the back of my hand.
“And I want to continue fucking you.” My thighs naturally press together from his low, rumbling tone.
“But that doesn’t mean you won’t get on just fine with Sophie.
You have a way of drawing people in, even if you don’t realize it. ”
I shake my head, a self-deprecating smile tugging at my lips. “You’re biased.”
“Perhaps,” he concedes with a wink, “but trust me, Emery, you’ll be just fine.
Plus, I need to run a few special errands myself today.
” A knowing grin spreads on his face as he reaches for his bedside table.
I frown as he fishes out his wallet and hands me a metal card.
“Here. Go crazy, darling. Buy whatever you desire.” His eyes darken.
“Maybe something we can take off together.”
“I have my own money,” I say warily, mildly intrigued with the idea of a game of show and tell. I wonder if he likes lace. Perhaps silk. Hmm… He might be a leather man.
He reins in a laugh. “I’m aware that you’re a self-sufficient woman, little Emery.” He nods down to the credit card. “But we both know Cavanaugh might be tracking your spending. Just use it, please.”
A cold shiver creeps up my spine. He’s right. Damon has all the means to track me. No. I can’t think about him right now. Not ever. It’s over. He’s no longer a thought. He can’t be.
“Fine.” I aggressively snatch the credit card and stand up in a huff. “I’ll be sure to put your Amex to very good use today.” I arch a brow. “Is there a limit?”
Quin smirks. “Not for you, darling. Never for you.”
“Great.” I roll my eyes, mentally preparing myself for social torment. Before I exit back into my own room, I glance over my shoulder. “Oh, and a helicopter? To go shopping? I find that incredibly pretentious.”
Quinton grins. “Or you hate that you love it.” He wiggles his fingers at me. “Enjoy yourself, Emery darling. And try to have fun.”
This is torture.
The boutiques in Perreau Hills are like a labyrinth of wealth, each store more lavish than the last. As Sophie and I step into the sixth shop, my senses are immediately assaulted by a wild array of colors, textures, and scents.
God, the scents. Are they trying to suffocate us?
My palms sweat, shoulders sagging. Sophie, on the other hand, vibrates with excitement. God…what drugs is she on?
“Isn’t this just fabulous, darling?” she sings, running her fingers along the racks of designer clothes. She gasps, yanking a silver evening gown off the rack. “This one’s gorgeous! You must try it on!”
“It’s nice.” I reach for the price tag, my eyes bugging out of their sockets. “Nine thousand franc?!” I whisper in a harsh tone. “That is—”
“A steal!” Sophie waves her hand at a nearby associate. “Yes, hi! We’d love to try this on, please.” The associate scurries over, taking the gown from her hand. Sophie faces me, her enthusiasm damn near contagious. “Well! Go on now.”
I stare at the gown for a few seconds before reluctantly heading to the changing room.
The silk feels luxurious against my fingers as I hold the dress.
But the price tag? Jesus. Who spends this type of cash on fabric?
I sigh, stepping into the changing room.
As I slip on the dress, the fabric cascades down my body like liquid silver, and for a fleeting moment, I feel like royalty.
It's breathtaking. I can't deny that. But honestly, I don’t feel worthy of something so beautiful.
Not when I know my insides are so fucking ugly.
When I step out of the dressing room, Sophie lets out an actual gasp. "Emery, you look positively radiant!" Her tone turns deceptively casual as she says, “That silhouette is perfect on you. The bodice is very similar to the gown you wore to the Marquis Black and White Ball, isn’t it?”
My posture tenses as I step in front of the floor-length mirror. Sophie appears beside me as we both stare into the reflection.
She shoots me a cunning smile. “I saw photos in the paper. You and Damon looked like quite the pair that evening.” Unease stirs inside of me, and I dread her incoming line of questioning.
Sophie examines the hem of my strap, fixing the twists.
“Tell me, darling, how did you meet Damon?” Her gaze flicks to the mirror, and fierce, protective energy gleams in her irises. “Mmm?”
“I was headhunted by Cavanaugh Industries.” I swallow, my heart skipping a beat as I relay the original lie. “We met when he interviewed me.”
Sophie raises an eyebrow, clearly wary of my response. “And Quinton? How did he come into the picture?”
I pretend to fiddle with the bodice, my fingers tugging the delicate fabric. “Damon and I bumped into Quinton at a restaurant shortly after we started working together. He was…” Breathe. “He was on a date.”
Sophie purses her shiny plump lips. “I see.”
I try to keep my expression neutral, but the unease inside me continues to grow as Sophie probes further into my history with the two men. We’ve spun a tangled web of lies, and now I’m hopelessly trapped in a disastrous mess of half-truths and omissions.
“Well…” Sophie releases an animated sigh. “From what I’ve heard from my little birds in Manhattan, my brother is often on dates.” She glances at me, searching for more deceit. “He wasn’t always like that. You know…” Her tone turns venomous. “Before that little bitch fucked him up.”
Pain grips my chest. “Alison?” Her name tumbles out of my mouth like a destructive boulder.
Sophie’s brows knit together as if I wasn’t supposed to know.
“Before Alison, my brother and Damon were quite close. Almost strangely close. Did you know that?” I shake my head, bewildered.
“And then just like that,” she snaps her fingers, “it all fell apart.” She tilts her head.
“Do you know why?” She pauses, waiting for a response, but I have none.
“Because Alison couldn’t make up her mind.
She couldn’t decide which of these foolish boys to permanently sink her claws into. ”
“Yeah…” I swallow. “I’ve heard snippets of that…situation.” Friends? Damon and Quinton? I can’t picture it. Not at all.
Sophie’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Well, darling, I just hope that history doesn’t repeat itself.” She tilts her head. “Will it?”
The intensity of Sophie’s question sends shockwaves through me, shattering the fragile facade I’ve been trying to maintain. Does she know? Can she sense my confusion? Can she tell that I’m trapped? That I’m involved, in one way or another, with both of them?
“Quin and I are just friends,” I manage. “That’s all.”
Sophie’s skeptical gaze flits down to the lingerie in one of my shopping bags. “Friends? Mhmm. Whatever you say, darling. Whatever you say.”
Neither of us says much for the rest of the day, and the silence is comforting. In the same way that death comforts the ailing. Because I’m sick. Clearly so fucking sick.