Love, Chloe - Alessandra Torre Page 0,6

terrible looking. Prep school pretty, I wouldn’t depend on him to protect me in a dark alley. I could tell you without looking that his nails were manicured, his palms probably smoother than mine.

I risked death, tugging my arm from Benta and stepped closer, looking up at him. “Okay, Romeo. Give me your best shot.”

He stepped forward with a smile, one hand gripping my shoulder, his lips pushing on mine and let me tell you right now, his best shot really, really, really sucked. A thick tongue forcibly rammed itself into my gum line, with a smack of extra saliva as he clamped his chops around my lower lip and slowly pulled away, my lip stretching out before popping free. He tasted like Red Bull and whiskey, sugary sweet with a foul aftertaste. I’d literally had gyno exams that I’d enjoyed more.

I jumped back, shoving off his chest, my hand wiping across my mouth as I glared at him. “That was your best kiss?”

He laughed, rubbing his own lips with a smile that reeked of asshole. I held out my hand, wanting the cash, and his eyes dropped to it with a sneer. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach, and it wasn’t from the four martinis I had downed inside.

“Let’s go, Chloe,” Benta spoke quietly from behind me.

“Gimme the cash. We had a deal,” I insisted, my palm still extended, my pride at an all-time low. The urge to cry pricked my eyes, and I swallowed hard, begging him with my stare.

“He’s not worth it. Come on.” Cammie’s hand wrapped around my forearm and pulled, my heels tripping over the icy curb, her driver moving to open the back door for us. Before climbing in, I glanced over my shoulder and caught the trio of assholes laughing.

The SUV bumped over a pothole, taking us home. I rested my forehead against the cold window, hoping to get the spinning to stop. That experience … it had been the first time in my life that I had ever felt cheap. God, the look in his eyes when he’d laughed at me. I must have looked so pathetic, holding out my hand, begging for his cash.

I shouldn’t have even turned when he grabbed my hand. I should have listened when Benta spoke. I should have laughed in his face like I would have done three months ago.

But instead, within a month of my trust fund’s disappearance, I had prostituted myself for a kiss. And hadn’t even gotten paid for it. I groaned against the glass window and felt the gentle pat of Cammie’s hand against my back.

Maybe the cultured, confident woman I was before was just a product of my parents’ money. Maybe now, with my new life a train wreck, I would discover the real Chloe Madison. And maybe, I wouldn’t like her.

Ugh. I rolled down the window and tried not to vomit at the thought.

New Year’s Eve. The first holiday season spent without my parents, Christmas normally spent at our Aspen home, a picturesque cabin with six bedrooms, a hot tub, and theater room. Dad and I would ski through the Christmas tree fields until we found the perfect one; Mom and I would cook Christmas dinner in the chef’s kitchen, and we’d end the holiday with a pile of presents and lots of eggnog. That house, along with our Bahamas condo, was now the property of the government. I hoped someone was using it, the thought of our furniture under sheets, the hot tub frozen over, too depressing to consider. I didn’t even know where my parents were this year. They hadn’t called on Christmas Day, and we’d spoken once since my eviction, long enough for Mom to give me Nicole’s number, no apology or explanation given for their actions, their voices bubbly, lives busy, glamorous plans apparently still in effect.

“Ms. Madison?”

“Yes,” I said, stepping carefully toward the car, trying not to turn an ankle in my four-inch Brian Atwoods. “Are you the Brantleys’ driver?”

“I am.” He didn’t offer a name, just opened the Escalade’s back door with a polite smile, supporting my hand until the moment when I released it to grip the door frame. “I’ve already taken the Brantleys to the event. I have instructions to bring you to the house, pick up Chanel, and arrive at the party by eight.”

The same instructions Nicole had given me three times already, her over-enunciated words making it clear that she assumed I was an idiot. I nodded at the