“It’s just for fun, Larkin, my love.” Katherine wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“Until it’s not.”
“What are the terms?” I asked.
Lark sputtered, “Seriously?”
Katherine leaned forward, dragging Lark into this, too. “You have her eating out of the palm of your hand by, say, your mom’s annual party. You bring her to the party, and we’ll get an impartial judge to weigh in. You have two months.”
I shrugged casually. “Easy. I only needed a night last time.”
“And, if I win,” Katherine said, tapping her chin, “you’re mine for a night.”
The pool was silent. I should have anticipated her answer. Should have seen where this was all heading. This wasn’t about Natalie. This wasn’t because Katherine had liked Natalie and wanted to see her stand me up. Oh, it went much deeper than that.
That meant…I had to hit her where it hurt.
I smiled and saw her own smile waver. “Fine. And, when I win, you set a date for the wedding with Percy.”
Katherine flinched.
“Harsh,” Lewis muttered.
“You guys don’t have to do this,” Lark whispered once more, trying to be the voice of reason.
But she’d known us long enough. She knew we were two of the most competitive people in existence, and neither of us could back down from a challenge. Especially from each other.
“Fine.” Katherine stuck out her hand. “If you win, I’ll set the date.”
I shook her hand. “Deal.”
I didn’t let her see that I was enjoying this. The bet was a pretense. Now, I could go after Natalie without any shit from my friends. I could get her back on my side. Figure out what lay under that guarded exterior. Discover all her new truths. Claim her. Touch, lick, kiss every inch of her beautiful body.
Under any other circumstances, we wouldn’t have worked. We came from two different worlds.
I was Manhattan royalty. She was the help.
But I wanted her all the same.
Part II
Let The Games Begin
Natalie
7
I never wanted to drink again.
Ever.
The next time I thought about downing nearly an entire bottle of bourbon, I was going to just knock myself out instead. It would be faster. Maybe even less painful.
I shielded my eyes against the blinding sun, ignored my grumbling stomach, and then all but fell out of bed. What the hell had I been thinking last night? So much of it had this hazy film over it, as if I were seeing it through an out-of-focus lens. I remembered the ritual burning of my rejection letters and skinny-dipping. I remembered the bottle of liquor.
And Penn.
Penn fucking Kensington.
“Fuck,” I groaned into the silence of my bedroom.
Had he really been there last night or had that been some kind of manic dream? Because…it couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be here. He certainly couldn’t be a Kensington. That would be too horrible to consider.
I noticed my laptop was open and lurched toward it. There, in an incoherent babble, was some sort of story I’d written while I was drunk last night. I skimmed through it and groaned some more. Apparently, I’d written out more or less what actually happened after drinking an obscene amount.
Great.
I swiped sleep out of my eyes and slammed the laptop closed. I didn’t want anyone else to see what I’d written. That would be even more humiliating than what had happened the night before.
Snatching up my cell phone, I hastily changed, cleaned myself up, and then stumbled out of my bedroom. All of the doors were closed on the way to the living room. In fact, there was no sign at all that anyone had been there. The bottles had all been picked up. Nothing was on the tables. The pillows were all exactly how I had left them. No indents in the couch cushions.
I shook my head in confusion.
Had I been that drunk?
I had an active imagination. I made up stories in my free time. But I couldn’t have made last night up. Could I?
The kitchen was similarly empty and pristine. But when I pulled out the drawer for the trash, the bottle of bourbon was there as well as an empty bottle of champagne. I had a vague recollection of having champagne. That would explain the headache.
Okay, I wasn’t totally insane. People had been here. I’d actually seen Penn and his insanely incredible friends. So…where were they?
My phone told me it was already noon. They’d stayed up later than me. Were they all still asleep?
I had no interest in opening doors to find out if anyone was still around. It was easier to assume