BEFORE Audra

New York City is as awe-inspiring as everyone claims, but I didn’t expect it to be so dirty.

It’s been snowing off and on for the two weeks I’ve been here, and even though February is snow-covered in Scotland, too, at home the landscape is pristine. Here the precipitation hardens into filthy blocks of frozen black slush within ten minutes of hitting the ground. It’s a little prettier in some parts of Central Park, one of my favorite haunts since I’ve done nothing but wander and fret since coming here to hide after Christmas at home, but I’m starting to think maybe beauty isn’t the draw of this city, anyway.

Being beautiful doesn’t mean much, not in the long run. It comes, it goes, it leaves nothing behind on the nightstand the morning after. New York is better than pretty—it’s energetic. It’s magical and enigmatic and the streets are paved with the footsteps and successes of hundreds of thousands of people who’ve walked them before me. Made it through some tough shite before me.

Maybe some of them even had a raunchy sex tape snake its way onto the internet and lived to tell the tale.

My stomach twists hard at the thought of Logan and how stupid and trusting I’d been while we dated. Even the thought of a long walk in the park can’t cheer me up.

Instead, I shuffle out to the living room of the Paddingtons’ impressive penthouse on the Upper East Side and stare out the window. I’m not technically an invited guest because no one knows I’m here, but Blair had offered the place to me anytime I wanted to use it. She probably assumed I’d tell her first.

Despite my better judgment I pick up my phone and press the entry Shitstain, which is what Logan Walters has become on my life. It rings once and then goes to voicemail, letting me know that he declined the call. After ruining my life and chasing me off Whitman’s campus in shame and terror, the sexual predator can’t even take my calls.

Hi, it’s Logan. Leave it or don’t, makes no difference to me. I take a deep breath, swallowing a hot, slimy ball of hatred and disgust, and try smiling.

Because some asshole teaching good phone etiquette somewhere says the person on the other end of the line can hear my expression.

“Hi, Logan. It’s Audra, you remember me.” Swallow it harder, Audra. “I wondered if we could talk. There’s got to be something I can do to change your mind about how you handled our . . . breakup. Call me. Please.”

Bile coats the back of my tongue before my phone hits the couch. Having to beg that piece of shite in a sweet voice to please consider taking my naked body off the internet curls my hands into fists, burns my eyes with tears, even after six weeks. But I’ve tried crying, I’ve tried screaming, and I’ve gotten not a peep.

I thought I’d at least try to attract the cockroach with honey, but that approach isn’t working, either.

A dark head bobs toward the front door of the apartment building, face half hidden by trademark bitch glasses. The designer jeans, printed scarf, and classic Burberry bag hanging off her arm could belong to dozens of snooty women who live on this block.

But they don’t. They belong to Blair. Crap. It’s not surprising that she found me. If she wasn’t so smitten with Sam Bradford,

spending at least two weekends a month flying around the world to sit in the stands at his tennis matches, she probably would have shown up sooner. My palms break out in a sweat

because I’m not ready to face someone else with the truth. To watch them think, Jeez, Audra, could you be any dumber?

A little sliver of relief pierces my nerves, making me stop moving. For the first time, my mind turns over the idea that maybe trying to deal with this whole thing—or not deal with it, as the case may be—on my own might be more than I can handle. I hate that I ran. I am a Scot, not a runner. A facer.

Yet Logan Walters sent me scurrying into a hole. Fuck him. A key turns in the lock, and then she’s here, in New York City, when she should be

getting ready for another week of classes. Blair whips off her giant black sunglasses and gives me a look that clearly asks for an explanation.

No hello, no How are you and where have you been. Just What are you doing in my apartment written in snapping chocolate-brown eyes.

The non-greeting twitches my lips into a weak smile. It’s so Blair, and a rush of longing floods my bloodstream. Tears prick my eyes and spill over onto my cheeks, each one carrying stress that’s been balling up inside me for weeks. They pool around my lips. They taste like relief because I’ve missed her. I miss my life and my sorority sisters and my stupid twin bed.

My tears move her forward and she puts her arms around me in a rare show of affection. The gesture makes me cry harder.

“Okay, okay. You’ve got to calm down. I know you’re the little sister and you’re used to having four big brothers to take care of everything and make it all better, but I am an only child.” She pulls back, discomfort wrinkling her nose. Her hand sweeps back and forth between us. “This? Freaks me out. Talk.”

I sniffle a laugh, wiping my eyes and nose with the sleeve of my pajama top. “You make me sound like a baby.”

Blair rolls her eyes, tossing her purse on the expensive cherry coffee table like it didn’t cost six hundred dollars and flopping on the leather sofa. “You are a baby. Now tell me what’s going on.”

The leather is cool against my overheated skin when I sit next to her. My brain wanders through the events of the past several weeks—or really, the one inciting incident that sent me home early for Christmas. Shame, the same kind that made it impossible for me to go back to school not knowing how many of the guys at frat parties have seen me wild and naked, heats my cheeks. Anger is right behind it because I shouldn’t be ashamed. I’m not a prude, and the fact that I had sex with Logan doesn’t bother me—it’s the fact that I didn’t choose to share my body with hundreds of thousands of strangers, too.

“I don’t know where to start,” I whisper. “How about you start with what you’re doing squatting in my apartment?” She raises an

eyebrow but she’s not angry. Blair puts on a good front but her heart is huge. Her generosity with everything—except her secrets, it turns out—is the reason I felt

okay about holing up here without her knowing. She doesn’t care. She wants the gossip. I sigh, tugging my fingers through the snarls in my hair. They come away greasy, leaving

me struggling to remember the last time I stood in the oversized shower and let the fifteen superjets try to wash away the stain my relationship with Logan Walters left behind. “I’m sorry I left without telling you. But you’d been gone so long and I didn’t want to interrupt whatever you had going on. . . . I’ve seen you and Sam on TV, by the way. You seem happy.”

“Yeah.” A totally new kind of grin sneaks across Blair’s face, like someone shoved sunshine down inside her and it’s leaking out of her pores. “We had a rough go at first but

things are pretty fucking amazing. Which is hard for me to admit still. Like I’m afraid saying it will make it all go poof in a cloud of smoke.”

“I can’t even believe this is you talking. Have you been replaced by a happy, in-love pod person?”

“Maybe.” She swats me, her smile falling away as her eyes narrow. “Don’t change the subject. You left school early, and instead of coming back two weeks ago, you came here. It took me a few weeks to find you, by the way, so good job.”

“Ha. Only because you have property stashed all over the world.” “The Stuart family has its fair share of vacation homes,” she points out. “I got super

curious when I found out you didn’t stay with your family, and Cole had no idea you weren’t coming back to school.”

My heart twists at the mention of my family, my teeth coming down on my lower lip. It’s so raw that the taste of blood springs to my tongue. “Is he worried?”

“Hell yes, he’s worried! What the fuck did you think would happen? Nox and Law are freaking out but none of them want to pull the trigger and call your parents since you’ve been checking in with them. I told them I’d track you down.” She pauses, watching me again with an expression that says it’s my turn to spew answers.

“Logan and I broke up.” “Oh?” Blair tries to rearrange her face into a sympathetic expression, but we both know

she never liked my ex. Turns out her instincts should be trusted on most matters, not just those having to do with money.

“Yeah.” I take a deep breath. “Which is when I found out he’d been recording us having sex for weeks. I have my own porn website.”

“What? Oh my god, that fucking dick-licking asshole, I am going to find him and rip his balls off.”

Warmth tickles under my embarrassment, breaking through it like rays of sun through the clouds. I’ve confessed the worst part and she’s said nothing about how could I have let this happen. “Thank you for the sentiment, but he’s not answering his phone, so good luck.”

“He’s still at school. Shouldn’t be too hard.” She pops off the couch, the squint of her eyes and the way she paces in front of the window letting me know she’s entered plotting mode. Something to fear when it comes to the mind of Blair Paddington. “Can you prove it was him?”

“No. He kept his face away from the camera. In the videos he’s in.” “What do you mean, the ones he’s in?” My face tries to melt, nausea whipping up chunks in my gut. The memory of that day,

the one that created the most awful of the terribly personal videos, eggs it on. “The, um, most popular video is just me. He asked me to . . . you know.”

“Get yourself off in front of him?” she supplies, as blunt as ever. It’s odd, but having her state it that way, clinical and obvious, as though I’m not the only

girl in the world to ever acquiesce to such a request—which obviously, I’m not, it just feels that way—straightens my shoulders. Logan has stolen my comfort and my life; he doesn’t get to damage the healthy sexuality I’ve worked hard for years to cultivate.

Having four older brothers tends to make a girl a little shy and a lot overprotected, but my parents weren’t either and it didn’t take me long to accept that it’s okay for me to feel good.

“Yes. Anyway, I don’t know enough about computers or how all of this works to prove he’s behind it. Or, better yet, take it down.”

“Neither do I, dammit.” She gnaws on the inside of her cheek. “I mean, I know more than you. I can track down the IP address, but I’m guessing even moron Logan Walters has figured out how to hide his tracks better than that. I can probably find someone to do it, but not quickly.”

“I’ve been trying to figure out what to do, but there’s no way I’m going back to school until I get it sorted. Everyone’s going to be looking at me and thinking of . . . you know.”

“You naked and writhing on a bed?” Blair finishes again, pursing her lips. “Maybe, but there’s a good chance ninety percent of the guys at Whitman were already doing that anyway. And I haven’t heard a single thing about it. Could be that he’s smart enough to realize drawing attention to it on campus will only get him in trouble, given your family and all. Besides, you can’t let him run you off. Win.”

“I know. I know.” I stand up, too, pacing into the kitchen and pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge. “But I have to do something. This can’t just hang out there over my head. And even though I’m embarrassed, mostly I’m really, really pissed. I want to make him pay, but my first priority has to be my family. We’re talking generations of Stuarts with good reputations running one of the most prominent charities in the world. Something like this would take the focus off of that and put it on me, the poor little rich girl behaving badly.” Hysteria pushes my voice higher and higher until my hands shake so hard water sloshes onto my wrist.

Blair rolls her eyes, turning her back on the New York City skyline. “That’s not you.” “It doesn’t matter,” I say flatly, but can’t help a smile. “That’s how the media will spin it

and we both know it. I’m not a normal girl. I don’t get to shrug and write it off as an oops.” “Hmm.” She gives me a sideways look, one that suggests I’m not going to like what

follows. “What we need is someone who not only has the expertise to help you wipe it for good, but would be willing to do it. No small feat in this day and age.”

“And where are we going to find this little miracle? Not to mention, how are we going to get him or her to help?”

“Well, I’ve got nothing as far as the second question, but the first? We both know there’s someone right on Whitman’s campus with that kind of power. How do you feel about making a deal with the devil?”

CHAPTER ONE Sebastian

“You skipping happy hour, Seb?” The bespectacled guy who runs Congressman Schneider’s campaign nods toward my

hand, which is clasping the door handle in a furtive attempt to escape this very invitation. He offers a smile, one that says I’m not being a team player because everyone else is going out for drinks in less than an hour.

Working on the campaign makes me feel settled in a way I didn’t expect. Fills me with a purpose that’s better than the fleeting satisfaction that comes with fucking my fellow Whitman Owls whenever the chance presents itself. I love the idea of being able to turn my love of scheming into a career.

But it does not, in any way, inspire me to spend time drinking with a bunch of morons in a shitty bar.

“Yeah, I’ve got plans. Family stuff.” Not a lie, oddly. The nod and smile he gives me, eyes already back on the graph of polling statistics, says

he’s letting me off the hook. Which isn’t too hard to believe considering I’m an unpaid intern on the site, not an employee. My teeth grind together at the reminder that I’m someone’s bitch.

I pull my navy peacoat around me and watch my shiny five-hundred-dollar shoes click on the uneven sidewalks on the way to the hole-in-the-wall Italian joint that’s so disgusting there’s zero chance of running into my father, any of his cronies, or anyone who knows who I am. It’s as chilly as it ever gets in this part of Florida, which means about seventy degrees. The coat is unnecessary but it’s one of my favorite accessories.

Also it helps disguise my frame. The temperature in D’Angelo’s is too warm, as though they’re dying for a chance to use

the heater some idiot insisted on paying for and seventy degrees is going to be their best opportunity. It’s four thirty and the place lost their liquor license six months ago, which means no happy hour. Which means there’s only one other patron in the entire restaurant, and also that this is going to be one long meal.

Her peroxide-blonde hair is brittle, frizzing at the ends from malnourishment and probably the medications. When she can get them. Her skin resembles a nut, too brown even for Florida. My lips purse and disgust bleeds into my expression; I can feel it now, after hours of staring in the mirror trying to make myself appear nicer. More approachable.

I’m a work in progress, and it’s slow going. “Sebastian, darling.” Her face lights up and she struggles to her feet, oxygen tubes

tangling her up for a moment. Then her bone-thin arms squeeze my neck. I hold my breath to ward off the antiseptic smell that follows her in a cloud, self-loathing

crawling through me at how badly I want to pull away. “Hello, Mother.” The word feels as thick and misshapen on my tongue as it did the first time she sought

me out two months ago. It’s strange to realize that after years of hating a person, the fact that she carried you in her womb still holds power. Guilt shoved me into meeting her for lunch that first time, but now? It’s more like a responsibility that I can’t shake off no matter how hard I try.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, settling into the uncomfortable chair and spreading a white linen napkin across my lap. No point in ruining a fifteen-hundred-dollar suit.

She waves a hand, as though her debilitating vascular disease doesn’t concern her any more than a weekend cold. “Today is a good day.”

A bored waiter wanders up to the table, teeth chomping on a piece of gum. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

I do my best to avoid looking at him, disgusted by his lack of professionalism. This is what I’ve been reduced to—eating in places that hire pig idiots to wait on people. “I’ll have a glass with ice.”

The flask in my pocket will provide the rest of the beverage. “Iced tea for me,” my mother orders, sighing in a way that lets us all know she’d rather

be drinking. Not that I blame her. There’s no way I’d get through one of our meetings sober. The waiter strolls off toward the computer at the end of the bar, no hurry in his step. I

take a deep breath and count to five, a coping mechanism in the face of incompetence, and then focus on my mother. Jocelyn Caldwell, age thirty-nine. High-priced hooker for most of her life with the issues that tag along—cocaine problems, alcohol problems. Selling her child in exchange for a couple million dollars.

All of which is gone now, of course. Good drugs are expensive. “Did you talk to your father?” she asks, hope lighting the gold strands in her dark-brown

eyes—my eyes. The one feature she passed along that somehow trumped the Rowland genes. The waiter returns and sets down our drinks. I dump scotch into the glass, daring him to

object, and when he doesn’t we order dinner. Then there’s nothing left to do but answer her question, but at least my stomach is warm and coated now.

“I felt him out.” I grimace, thinking of the conversation with Teddy. Going to him for more money never goes well since he assumes—correctly—that he gives me plenty. Asking him to help a woman who blackmailed him ten years ago . . . the Titanic had a better shot against that iceberg. “He’s not interested. And, as a bonus, if he finds out I’m using any of his money to help with your medical costs, he’ll cut me off.”

My mouth tastes sour at the reminder. Teddy makes it clear every time we speak that my position in his family and any potential employment with Rowland Communications is subject to change. He’s not likely to hire me for any kind of actual work after graduation, no matter how I excel at school or how big of an asset I could be, and now that he’s pretty much informed me that I won’t be spending his money the way I see fit, the dream of getting out from under his thumb is the only one I have left.

It’s free money, but even I have my limits. And a small amount of pride, it turns out. “Oh.” Her face falls, expectation dripping off her chin into a puddle of acceptance. She

must have known his answer would be no. Teddy Rowland is not a man known for his compassion. “Well, there are worse things than dying poor.”

“You’re not going to die, Mother.” “Oh yes I am, honey. No one with my disease has lived longer than four years, and given

that fewer than fifteen thousand people are diagnosed with it in the United States, no research is being done. There is no cure.” Her eyes fill with tears but she bites her lip, all of the blood rushing away from her teeth. “I was just hoping to die in a bed, with some morphine and a blanket is all.”

We sit in silence, the only sound the clinking of the ice in the bottom of my glass and the voice in the back of my head trying to convince the rest of me that this isn’t my goddamn problem.

Our food arrives and she tries a different tactic. Not a new one. “Don’t you think one of your friends at school might be able to help? You’re graduating in a few months, surely there will be a good job lined up for you somewhere.”

The scotch turns to sawdust in my mouth. There’s no way a single person at Whitman University would lift a finger to help me, not after almost four years of manipulating them like chess pieces, insulting them with smartass remarks, and basically making them kiss my ass for every reason under the sun. I can’t say any of that because for some reason that eludes me, I don’t want my mother to know I’m a huge sleazeball.

I’ve done what I had to do to survive. To make myself necessary even if that never translated into friendship. She made her living screwing people for money, and I ended up in essentially the same boat.

And we’re both paying for those choices now. “I’ll keep my ear to the ground but right now I don’t have anything lined up.” My

mother picks at her food, growing more pale and sweaty the longer she sits here. She should be home in bed—there are days the pain gets so bad that her volunteer nurse has to carry her back and forth to the bathroom. The image unwinds a little more of the hatred that built up over a decade until it turns wispy enough to blow away. “I’ll find a way to get you your bed and your morphine.”

“No promises on the blanket, huh?” She manages a smile, pushing her still full plate away. “I know you’re trying to decide if you believe me, that your father didn’t give me any options where your custody was concerned, and I don’t blame you for your skepticism. You wouldn’t be my son if you weren’t cautious. So I thank you for trying.”

“You’re asking me to rethink my entire life.” The story my father spun involved Jocelyn coming to him, me barely ten years old, and demanding money or she’d go public about his affinity for prostitutes. She’d signed over parental rights and walked away without a backward glance.

She’s telling me the opposite. I don’t know what to believe, but for a guy who has spent his entire life making sure he

doesn’t love anything or anyone so much that I can’t leave it behind, something human lingers inside me. And that something hates the idea of turning my back on my mother, no matter whose story is true.

“I’ll figure something out,” I tell her again, and turn my attention to my lasagna. Discomfort tightens my throat until it’s hard to swallow, and by the time the waiter clears our plates mine’s hardly more empty than hers. He leaves the check and I stuff some cash inside, tipping him too much for the shitty service. I don’t want to wait on change; I just want out of here.

No one should depend on me. I am not dependable. “How’s school? Are you ready to be finished, or will you miss it?” She smiles, a faraway

look softening the lines on her fake-baked skin. “I always thought it would be fun, to go to college.”

A grimace hunches my shoulders. “It’s been okay. I’m ready to move on.” “And your work on the congressman’s campaign? That’s still going well?” Heat creeps up under my collar, which feels too tight. It’s not; this suit was tailored for

me. Stray lumps of familial responsibility might be taking root, but talking about things like my life and my future with this woman who hasn’t been a part of either—and still hasn’t convinced me she regrets that—curls my fingers into fists so tight my nails bite into my palms.

“It’s fine. I like politics.” I stand up, tugging my jacket off the back of the chair, lamenting the lack of coat check and valet at this piece-of-shit restaurant, and offer her my hand. “Let me get you a cab.”

Jocelyn wastes almost five minutes getting up on shaking legs, running sticklike fingers through the bundle of straw she calls hair. By the time she’s got her coat on and we’re out on the curb the sun has started to set.

“Are you sure your father isn’t going to find out you paid for my taxi?” she questions once she’s in the backseat, smiling as though she’s making a joke. It’s not funny.

I frown at her. “Have a good night. The nurse should be by in the morning.” I slam the door and watch the bright yellow sedan until it turns the corner, slimy

tentacles leaving sucker-sized sores on my veins. Confusion muddles guilt with irritation, shame, and discomfort until it’s impossible to define how I feel about Jocelyn’s reentrance into my life just before Christmas.

But the fact that I have screwed myself so hard as far as getting a job that doesn’t center around kissing Teddy Rowland’s ass would be a problem whether my mother was part of the equation or not.

Quinn moved on—proved himself, as hard as that is to admit. The difference between him and me are plentiful, though, starting with the fact that he’s Teddy’s legitimate son and ending with the sad fact that Quinn’s good at what he does. He loves working in communications, and with his background in professional tennis he has plenty of contacts to make it on his own if our father chooses pride over money (he won’t).

My one true love is manipulation. Setting up the pieces on the board and planning moves ten steps ahead, baiting traps that spring at the most advantageous time. Knowing all the details about the lives of anyone who might help me or get in my way. It’s what I’m good at, it’s what makes me feel alive. Politics feels like a natural fit, but I can’t do it for free. Not forever.

There are plenty of kids on campus who come from political families, but in order for them to trust me, I’ve got to at least appear to lament my actions. My lips twist in a grimace, and I shake my head, wishing I could dislodge the idea. Erasing three and a half years of behavior in less than four months could prove an impossible task, even for me, and it’s embarrassing, really, to think I’ve been so shortsighted. I figured being Teddy Rowland’s dirty little secret would be enough for me.

Turns out it’s not. It makes me hate myself, wanting more, like every other stupid starry-eyed dreamer scurrying around campus.

The frat house feels empty, my sticky footsteps echoing in the empty space, furniture pushed into the sunroom and the chapter room after last night’s after-bar. The pledges are slacking. It should have been cleaned and put back together before they left for class this morning. I’ve been at the beach house for the last couple of nights because solitude keeps me sane, but no one else keeps tabs on the lazy freshman assholes in my absence.

Hardly any seniors live in the house—just Toby Wright and myself at the moment, because we’re sitting officers of Sigma Epsilon Alpha. Another form of control, and something that actually looks decent on my résumé.

I shove open the door to my room, the only one on the third floor, and yank loose my tie, flinging it onto the bed before a toss of fire-red hair catches my eye.

She gives me a thin smile. “Hello, Sebastian.”

Chapter Two Sebastian

It burns to admit when people startle me. Get the jump on me. But the sight of her slender frame, accentuated by an emerald green sweater and tight-fitting jeans, her red hair shining in the light from the lamp on my desk, force me to emit a rather unmanly squeak. That alone makes me want to throw her out, but if being the mastermind of Whitman all these years has taught me anything, it’s to never send people away until you figure out how they can be of use.

Audra Stuart has been introduced to me twice and, given her third-party association with my half brother and his girlfriend, has thus far refused to soil herself by speaking with me.

I manage to get my shit together and shrug out of my coat, hanging it up in my color-coded closet, keeping my movements measured and calm. “How did you get in here?”

She gives me a look, twisting her lips to drive home the point that she thinks I’m an idiot. “It’s a frat house, Sebastian. The problem for girls usually comes when they want to get out.”

Audra’s sense of humor startles a chuckle from my belly, even though she may or may not have been making a joke. My laugh sounds dusty, unused, leaving me to wonder when I last used it unironically. “Fair point. Perhaps the better question is why are you here?”

I heard that she left school early before Christmas and that she hasn’t started any of her classes this semester, of course. Those kinds of things don’t escape me.

Especially when I’m one of three people—including her—who knows the reason why. What I don’t know is why Little Miss Unwilling Porn Star has decided to call on me her

first day back on campus. She came back, though, which winds an unwilling thread of respect through me. Audra doesn’t strike me as a girl with much of a backbone. With four older brothers and parents who are willing to sweep every new area for land mines before she puts a foot on the ground, she’s a classic run-and-hide chick. Can’t handle problems on her own, doesn’t have a clue how to deal when things don’t go her way.

It seemed I was proven right last semester, and yet here she is. Chewing on her lower lip, tugging on her bright red waves, wondering whether or not to say whatever she came to say. Trying my patience.

“Spit it out, Audra. I guarantee whatever you’ve done, I’ve seen or heard worse.” “That’s probably true,” she muses, wrinkling her nose. The obvious sign of disdain has my tongue on the edge of snapping back, telling her

exactly how many people have seen her finger-banging herself butt-ass naked, but manage to contain the urge. I never tip my hand.

“I don’t know who else to go to about this. I’m sure you’ve heard that before,” she says, quieter now. Waiting for me to agree, taking a deep breath that only brightens the red on the apples of her pale cheeks when I don’t. “The guy I was seeing last semester filmed us having sex without my consent and put it up on a website.”

I force my eyes to widen and my bottom jaw to loosen a bit, feigning shock the best I can manage. “You? Innocent little Audra Stuart has sex? Do your brothers know?”

Tears fill her big, green eyes, but they’re easy enough to ignore. Instead of pretending to care I toss my briefcase on the desk and settle in the chair, studying her. She gets control of her emotions fast enough to impress me again. In fact, her delicate fingers are curling into fists.

“Yes, I have sex. I’m an adult, a consenting adult in this situation, except for the filming part.” She sets her jaw, fire burning behind her embarrassment. “I’m not ashamed of what I did. I’m pissed that my body is being displayed without my consent.”

I shrug, irritated by her righteousness. “I can see how this situation would be stressful for you, but again, why are you here? Your family could hire a whole team of lawyers to sort this whole thing out.”

“If you really think that’s a valid option maybe I shouldn’t have come here at all. The legal system takes years to get anything done, and that’s after they spend months finding a way to prove Logan’s behind the whole thing. I just want it gone so my family’s charity doesn’t suffer. That’s where you come in.”

An idea, like spots in the back of my mind that grow legs, hooks into my brain, takes root. Audra Stuart—a girl whose reputation, aside from the series of sex videos, is 100 percent squeaky clean—is about to ask for my help.

And what kind of sleazy dick would I be if I agreed without asking for something in return? Something I need more than anything else if I’m going to take care of my mother during her final year or two—legitimacy.

This chick has it in spades, and if she wants that website gone and its content wiped for good—no small task when it comes to the internet—she’s going to lend it to me.

“That’s where I come in, what?” I’m being an asshole, but it’s important that she says it. “You’ve got your fingers in every dirty, sneaky, underhanded, shitty thing that happens

on this campus.” She wrinkles her nose again. “I figure if anyone can get in front of this, it’s you.”

“Well, who can resist in the face of such flattery.” “Don’t pretend you’re offended. You’re probably about to burst with pride at all the

compliments.” Audra moves from her spot by the windows, inching along the edge of my bed until she’s a couple of feet away. She smells like citrus perfume and fresh shampoo, and up close it’s impossible not to appreciate the lithe length of her creamy legs.

It’s tempting to ask for a return favor of my usual variety, but I’m surprised to find that, given the nature of what’s happened to bring her here, tumbling her into bed holds less appeal than it should. Focus, Sebastian. I need her to fix my image more than I need to stick my dick in her, regardless of the memory of those videos.

“Let’s say I’m willing to help. I’m going to need to see these videos in order to trace them. You okay with that?”

The reddish spots on her cheeks deepen to crimson. “No, I’m not fucking okay with that, but I don’t have a ton of options. I’d rather you see me naked than half of campus.”

“Once again, I’m flattered.” “Don’t be. Tell me you can help.” I take a moment to study her, realizing quickly that she might be playing tough but

Audra Stuart is teetering on the edge of a breakdown. Sweat shines on her forehead and upper lip, and when she unclenches her fists, her hands shake. The fact makes me frown. One of the best things about the internet is not having to face the literal consequences of putting up sex videos for someone, but here she is.

Doing her best to make me feel as though I’ve done the wrong thing. “Show me the videos.” I flip my laptop open and nudge it her direction, swallowing hard

at the way her face tinges green. “I’m not going to pop popcorn and force you to sit through them with me,” I say, my voice emerging softer than I thought possible. “I just need the location.”

A deep breath pushes her decent boobs toward me, then pulls them away, a practice she repeats at least three times before stretching a tentative hand toward my laptop and pulling up the site I engineered. A minute later she’s onscreen all her creamy, writhing glory,

kneeling and performing some enthusiastic sucking on a guy whose head conveniently lands out of frame.

Tears fill her eyes as she looks away, refusing to make eye contact, but they don’t spill down her cheeks. My respect for her ratchets up again, and not just because I do love a woman confident enough to enjoy sex.

I hit the pause button, copy the link, and paste it into a Word document before snapping the laptop closed. Every muscle in her body relaxes once the images disappear, even though they’re gone from her immediate field of vision and not from the gross, prying eyes of perverted fifteen-year-olds in their mothers’ basements.

This is the part that makes me feel the slightest bit as though an extra layer of slime coats my skin, but it’s necessary. She has to know who is in charge of this new partnership just in case she decides at some point that she’d rather not be associated with me.

Which is bound to happen. Girls like Audra Stuart do not tolerate boys like me. “Well, now that I know exactly where to find these little treasures, let’s talk about what

you’re going to do for me in exchange for getting rid of your problem before it becomes public knowledge.”

She couldn’t know it—would hopefully never know it—but I’d set up that site so that it’s hard to find from campus computers. I’m a dick, not a monster.

“What do you want? Money?” I shake my head, wrinkling my own nose now. I might need my own money, but there’s

no way I can take care of my mother with funds I blackmailed from a sweet college sophomore. “No. What I need from you is a tad more . . . delicate. And it’s going to require some real commitment on your part, I’m afraid.”

Audra takes a step back, as though putting space between us can soften the blow of what I’m going to ask. “Okay . . .”

The way I see it, there’s only one thing Audra has that I need. One thing that can convince me to take down the channel I set up for Logan Walters two months ago. A good reputation.

“I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend.” I cross my legs and dig a bottle of water out of the mini fridge, trying to give off the impression that I don’t care one way or the other how she answers.

Audra’s jaw falls open, her bright green eyes widening until she looks like some kind of manga character. She sputters instead of responding but then manages to wrap her mind around the English language again—faint Scottish accent and all. “Yer bum’s out the window. Why? No one is going to believe that. And why?”

“The why is my business, and the deal only lasts as long as you make people believe it.” The water hits the back of my throat, cold and clean, doing its best to wipe away the gathering filth. She’s right that this isn’t going to be easy. Her brothers are probably going to kick my ass, but I’ve taken beatings before. “Now that I know where to find your awesomely naughty little displays, I’m sure you’ll do your best.”

The threat spills out of me as smooth as every one I’ve ever uttered and slithers its way to her, finding its mark, hitting almost like a physical blow. Audra folds in on herself as though I’ve punched her in the stomach, surprise replaced by understanding in a flash. I feel a little sick.

“You wanted me to show you the website so you could blackmail me.” “No, I needed the location, as I said, in order to take it down. It’s a happy coincidence

that your request also allows me to, say, put things back in place if you renege on our deal.” I put down the water bottle and spread my hands like someone offering peace, not poison. “I

realize, of course, that we haven’t made an accord just yet. If you don’t want to be my girlfriend in exchange for this unfortunate incident getting wiped from existence, I’ll forget I ever saw it.”

Not likely. Audra’s a beautiful girl with a beautiful body; I doubt anyone who has seen her naked can forget it.

She purses her lips, head cocked to the side as though attempting to solve me. Decipher my request. “What exactly does being your fake girlfriend entail?”

The suggestion shoves a grimace onto my face, a wince down my spine. My reputation is often exaggerated, which works in my favor on occasion, but never fails to disgust me in private. “Public appearances. Greek life dates. Occasional hand-holding, and I can’t promise no kissing, but only when strictly necessary.”

“Sex?” “Audra, I know what people say about me. Most of it’s true, but I have no issues filling

my bed and achieving mutual and consenting gratification when I so desire. There’s no need for me to force sex from a girl who doesn’t want to give it to me, and frankly, I find the idea abhorrent. I will, however, suspend said voluntary activities for the duration of our courtship. For believability’s sake. I’d appreciate it if you would do the same.”

“No problem. I’m not exactly feeling trusting enough to start dating again.” She eyes me, curiosity sparking in her perceptive gaze. “How long will this have to go on? Before you’ll consider the debt paid?”

“I graduate in May. That should suffice. Then you and the rest of this wretched university will be free of me.” And I’ll be free of them. With any luck—and Audra’s help—the same will be able to be said of my father and Rowland Communications, as well.

I don’t think she’ll agree. I suspect she’ll take the bury-her-head-in-the-sand approach that’s so popular among vapid sorority girls these days and either transfer schools or pretend no one would ever stumble across the site and blow her cover.

So, her quick assent sets me back on my heels a bit. Maybe I should have taken into consideration her upbringing and her devotion to her family and their business of giving money away to poor people.

“Okay. It’s a deal. You get rid of the videos and never, ever breathe a word about them to anyone, and I’ll spend the next four months dating you.” She puts air quotes around the word dating, a small smile twitching the corner of her lips.

“What’s so funny?” I narrow my gaze at her, trying to decide if I’m missing something. “Nothing.” She picks up her purse and flips her hair, sending the curious, intoxicating

scent of her shampoo creeping in my direction. “I just have the strangest feeling that you have no idea what you’re getting into.”

I snort, surprised again by her humor in the face of adversity. “I think the same could be said of you.”

She shakes her head, making an exit after passing me her phone number and her room number at the sorority house, the kind of things a boyfriend should be privy to, leaving me with one final problem.

How to keep her from figuring out I’m the one who helped Logan exploit her in the first place. Four months is a long time to expect a secret like that to stay buried.

Chapter Three Audra

My almost-two-year-old Bid Day T-shirt clings to my sweaty back, dirt coating my skin like scales as I drop the last of my crap on the floor in the room I share with Blair. I’m glad we had already decided to stay in the Kappa Chi house together another semester before all this happened, otherwise there wouldn’t have been anywhere for me to come back to when she talked me out of hiding for the rest of my life.

To be honest, I’m more embarrassed about my chicken-shite reaction than about the illicit footage.

“Hey,” I greet Blair, swiping the sweat off my forehead with my sleeve. Getting used to the steady heat in Florida had been one of the harder adjustments. Unlike my crazy brothers I haven’t the slightest intention of staying in this hellhole after graduation. “Don’t get up.”

She looks up from an accounting textbook, a fake innocent expression on her face. “Oh, did you need help?”

“Not anymore.” I flop on the bed, ignoring my stench for the moment. “When did you get here?”

“About five minutes ago. You must have been lugging that crap up the back stairs.” She gives me a look over the rim of her glasses that says she suspects I have a reason for choosing that path.

Maybe I am avoiding the other Kappas. It’s not a sustainable strategy, but one day without answering questions doesn’t seem like a crime punishable by death stare. “Enough weird shite has happened today. I can’t take having to lie to my sisters, too.”

That gets Blair’s attention and she snaps closed her book, tossing her thick-rimmed frames onto the nightstand. “What weird shit? Sebastian?”

“When is Sebastian not included in conversations about weird shite on this campus?” I pick at my bottom lip, trying to decide if the conversation at the SEA house had actually happened or if someone roofied me at the coffee shop this morning. Blair’s watching, waiting for answers, and Sebastian didn’t say I couldn’t tell anyone.

Besides, she already knows I went there. “He’s going to take down the site and make sure all of the archives are expunged. Totally

get rid of it.” “That’s great. And not weird, by the way.” “The weird part is what he wants from me in return. As payment or compensation or

whatever.” Blair sits up, crossing her legs. “It had better not be anything perverse or I swear to Jesus

I’m going over there right now to punch him in his smug piehole.” “No, it’s nothing like that. He wants me to pretend to be his girlfriend until graduation.” That shocks her. A wrinkle appears between her well-groomed eyebrows, chocolate eyes

blank canvases of confusion. It takes quite a bit of surprise to force Blair Paddington into silence, but I know how she feels.

“Why?” she finally manages. “He said not to worry about it, that all I needed to do was make sure people believed it.”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “So you can’t say anything, obviously.” The request twists her lips. I can almost hear the word no, but after several seconds, she

nods. “I mean, I don’t see how anyone’s going to buy that, but they won’t hear the truth from me.”

“I’m not opposed to a little brainstorming on his reasons. I feel pretty powerless here, especially since now he has all the ammo he needs to blackmail me for the rest of my life.”

“Which is totally his MO.” A text buzzes, a giddy smile parting her lips at the content. “That psycho doesn’t have a little black book full of girls’ phone numbers. He has one full of favors he can call in.”

“Answer Sam’s text and stop trying to make me think there’s another option.” “If you insist.” Her smile widens, cheeks flushed and real, true happiness sparkling in her dark eyes.

Sam’s supposed to be coming here for our spring formal in a couple of months, and I’m curious to meet him in person, the man who changed my cynical, dismissive roommate into this bubbly girl who blushes with the buzz of a phone.

I give her some privacy, deciding that a shower is in order. There are two community bathrooms on our floor and the one closest to our room is empty, thank goodness. The hot water combines with the steam to relax my sore muscles, but none of it massages answers into my brain.

By the time I get back to the room, wrapped in a thick robe and as clean and pink as a baby, I’ve decided not to overthink things. Nothing is more important than getting rid of those videos. It would ruin my life here, embarrass my brothers, and kill my parents, not to mention be a pretty serious issue for their life’s work. The university might even have policies against this kind of thing. I could be expelled.

It’s four months of a pretend relationship—no sex, minimal physical affection. Blair’s glued to her phone, speaking to Sam now in soft murmurs and the occasional peal of laughter, so I pull up the horrible, offensive website, prepared to cringe.

But it’s gone. Like it was never there. I check the archived site, which is as far as my computer expertise extends, but find no

evidence of my little unintentional indiscretion there, either. “Why are you staring at an internet error message like it’s Chris Evans about to go down

on you?” Blair’s leaning over my shoulder, her presence startling me. I motion to the screen.

“Because it’s gone. The site, the videos . . . everything.” “What? Already? Did you check the archive?” I nod, still in disbelief. “He did it.” The wrinkle is back on Blair’s forehead. “Audra, I know this is good news, so don’t take

this the wrong way, but I’m going to have some people double-check this. Because I don’t see how he got this done so fast.”

“Honestly, I don’t care. He held up his end of the bargain, now I’ve got to hold up mine.”

She snorts, still focused on the blank screen. “Have fun with that.”

By the time I step inside the front door of Castro’s, a funny little Cuban restaurant that Ruby Cotton loves, nerves jam my guts. Sebastian already did what he promised—he’s going to expect me to do the same. But dropping that kind of bomb during dinner with my brother Cole and his girlfriend isn’t my idea of a good time. They are going to freak out. Cole’s going to call Law and Nox and the three of them are probably going to form a posse, maybe kidnap Sebastian and make him disappear.

Which might not be a bad plan, as long as they don’t give him a laptop. Or access to a phone.

Ruby’s pretty face lights up when she catches sight of me but my brother leaps to his feet and drags me into a hug before she can slide back her chair. Cole’s strong swimmer arms threaten to expunge all the oxygen from my lungs before he lets me go, the scent of

chlorine and Ruby’s perfume clinging to my thin gray sweater. Ruby’s next, her hug lighter and more awkward, remnants of the hesitant girl she’d been before realizing my idiot brother isn’t the type to make her feel inferior because of her past.

“We’re so glad you’re back,” Ruby gushes, smiling at me from across the table. Candlelight catches in her bright blue eyes, highlighting the light freckles on her cheeks. She’s gorgeous in a pink-and-white dress that hugs her curves, and I think again how there’s no doubt she’s going to be the next big thing in New York.

Cole’s arm stays close to her, always shifting to stay near her heat but never interfering with her movements. It’s been about a year since they officially became a couple, but the two of them are a well-oiled machine. If machines had trouble keeping their hands off each other. Or hands.

“We’ve been worried,” my brother starts after we order drinks. His gruff tone chastises me for putting everyone in a position where they have to be concerned about me, which is silly since all my brothers consider that their full-time job anyway.

“I’m sorry.” My eyes scan the menu but don’t see a word. I force myself to read slower, absorb descriptions and specials until something appears that can be stomached, but the nerves haven’t stopped.

I’m going to date Sebastian Blair. Even if it’s not real, people are going to think it’s real. Until last semester I would never have seen myself as the girl concerned with her reputation, but now that it’s been threatened, now that it’s clear that it has value, I can’t help but wonder whether this little ruse will do as much damage as the videos, were they to leak.

I mean, everyone has a sex scandal these days. Every celebrity has nude photos on the internet. They manage to bounce back.

I don’t know if I can recover from voluntarily spending time with a sociopath. “Audra?” There’s a questioning look in my brother’s eyes, a lighter shade of green than

mine. He must have asked me something. Shit. This is already going poorly and we haven’t

even gotten to the bad part yet. “What?” “I asked where you’ve been?” Ruby slams an elbow into his rib cage, making Cole yelp. Her sisterly gaze stays on me.

“You don’t have to tell us where you’ve been, Audra. It’s your business. We’re glad you’re back and we just want to know if you’re okay. If you need anything.”

Cole starts to roll his eyes but aborts when Ruby cuts a glare in his direction. Instead he smiles, fiddling with his mineral water. “She’s right, even though I really want to know where you’ve been. I’ll settle for asking if you need anything from me. From us.”

A lump lodges in my throat, wet and throbbing over the unexpected kindness. That Ruby convinced my brother not to pry, to give me my privacy, touches my heart. Maybe one day my other three brothers will find levelheaded, understanding women and my whole life will be different.

“I’m fine. Things got a little out of hand after my breakup with Logan, but I didn’t want to worry anyone. That’s why I kept checking in with Mum and Dad. But I’m better. Okay.” I swallow hard, then do it again, managing to ease the burning tightness and clear my eyes enough to read some more of the menu. “I think I’m going to get the salmon. What about you guys?”

“I think the risotto,” Ruby comments, smiling up at Cole before leaning in for a kiss. Whatever argument they had over how to handle my return obviously hasn’t done any lasting damage.

We order from a perky, middle-aged waitress and turn over our menus, left with nothing to focus on but conversation. Cole’s muscles tense with his struggle to not pepper me with a million questions and demand answers in the process, but Ruby sips her wine, as relaxed as ever. As though she doesn’t have a single doubt in the world that everything is exactly as it should be.

“Ruby, the winter play must be opening soon. What are you doing?” Her face lights up, like literal sunshine. “We just finished The Glass Menagerie at the

community theater, and Whitman’s doing Hamlet.” She makes a face. “Not my favorite Shakespeare.”

“I thought it was pretty much widely regarded as one of his best,” I say, just to say something. Anything to keep from blurting out my deal with Sebastian.

“Oh, I’ll give you that—story- and character-wise. It’s just so dark, and also the women’s parts are for shit. Which, as much as I adore old William, is a recurring issue with his work.”

“My favorite is The Tempest.” “Cole’s is As You Like It, which doesn’t surprise anyone who knows him, I’m sure. Total

cliché, but I’m partial to Romeo and Juliet.” She gives my brother a sweet glance and runs her hand over his close-cropped hair. “Because I have to get my tragic-love fix somewhere these days.”

“Well, I want to come.” I take a few sips of my Coke. “When does it open?” “In a couple of months. I’ll leave you a ticket.” The waiter returns and sets down our plates of food, offering cheese and cracked pepper

before scurrying off. I breathe through my nose the whole time knowing this is it—the perfect moment to drop my bombshell.

“Can you leave two tickets?” Talking proves difficult with breath stalling in my lungs, and it comes out as a breathless squeak, quiet enough that they squint in unison, struggling to hear.

Ruby’s eyebrows go up, but my brother just squints harder. Suspicious. Already preparing his big-brother inquisition for whoever the guy might be. All my brothers had liked Logan, at least as much as they approved of anyone I dated, so their judgment doesn’t mean much anymore.

They’re looking for guys from good families with solid grades and decent plans after graduation. Their subversive-pervert radar seems to be off.

“Sure. Can I ask who you’re bringing?” “Sebastian Blair?” Their joint reaction of shock is almost comical. Giggles lodge under my rib cage like

bubbles of helium, threatening to lift into my lungs and straight out of my mouth, but laughing won’t go a long way toward convincing them that I’m serious. Instead I fold my arms over my chest, trying for an annoyed posture but also holding my chest tight enough to trap my laughter.

Cole gets hold of his expression first, folding his arms in a copy of my pose. He doesn’t look like he’s on the verge of laughter. On the verge of looking around for Candid Camera, maybe. “You’re not serious.”

Deep breath. This is just the first test of many. “I am serious, actually. In fact, we’re going to need to wrap this dinner up in the next ten minutes, because we have a date later tonight.”

“A date,” Ruby says, taking care to enunciate each word. As though she’s auditioning for the part of concerned friend to a girl who is dangerously close to falling straight off her rocker. “With Sebastian Blair.”

“That’s what I said.” I shove a giant bite of salmon past my lips, really trying not to smile now. Glee sputters through me, unexpected but euphoric.

I think I didn’t expect it to feel so good, finally having an excuse to do something that will make my brothers completely livid.

“No. That guy is a freak, Audra. He’s psychotic and misogynistic and a lot of other words that leave a terrible taste in my mouth.” Cole’s face wrinkles up as though he’s soiled just speaking about Sebastian.

Ruby puts a hand on my brother’s arm, cutting off what sounds like a lengthy speech. “Cole, I’m sure Audra can decide for herself who she wants to date.”

“Obviously she can’t, not if she thinks being in a room alone with that guy for more than five minutes is a good idea.” His face turns red, a trademark sign of a rising Scottish temper.

It’s hardly ever—never, really—been directed at me because I’m the good girl. The sweet, docile little sister whose opinions are encouraged on every subject except proper suitors, who always defers to her parents and older brothers as far as the best thing for everyone. My chin juts out, ready to take whatever he’s going to dish out because this just feels so damn good.

Shock at my own rebelliousness zips through me, delicious and electric. It’s never bothered me before, toeing the line. Not that I’ve noticed. They’re looking out for me, and my brothers all have huge, beautiful hearts. But there’s something lovely, luxurious, about not being able to give in this time.

“Sebastian’s been changing,” Ruby soothes, the doubt in her eyes betraying her real thoughts on the subject. “I mean, he helped Toby last year when Kennedy was missing, and got them out of trouble with the cops, too. And he apologized to Emilie.”

That pulls me out of my own head, my ears perking up. “He apologized to Emilie?” She nods, finishing up her risotto. “Yes, a while ago. Said he didn’t have a problem with

her relationship with Quinn and apologized for all of the ugly racist shit he said. Promised he doesn’t feel that way, that he was just trying to get a rise out of her.”

“It worked,” Cole muttered. “Tell me she didn’t buy it.” Ruby shrugs, dropping her folded napkin onto her half-empty plate. “I don’t know. She’s

still wary of him but he’s been one hundred percent polite every time they’ve been forced to do family or business stuff together. She likes him better than Teddy.”

“That’s not saying a whole lot.” Cole’s watching me, the look on his face making it clear we’re both thinking the same thing—that I’m hardly recognizable.

I am not his innocent baby sister, and I haven’t been that for quite a long time. Junior year in high school, to be exact. I am the girl who has raunchy sex tapes leaked online, the girl who makes a deal with the devil to set things right.

The girl who, apparently, gets off on the havoc said deal wreaks with her friends and family.

The last bit heats my face with shame. It’s wrong to feel good about angering my brother when he’s looking out for me, when ten hours ago I would have laughed myself silly or crossed myself at the idea of going on a date with Sebastian Blair.

But the truth remains that I don’t have a choice. “See? He apologized to Emilie. He helped Toby and Kennedy. He’s changing, and I

think everyone deserves a second chance. So, he asked me out and I said yes. That was a few days ago.” I wipe my mouth, refusing to meet either of their eyes. Scared they’ll see the truth in mine. The lie.

Cole takes a deep breath in, blows it out. I can almost see the thoughts circulating in his head—that he should respect me because he respects women—he does. He’s all for empowerment and healthy sexuality and girls who are stronger than their counterparts. Those are all reasons he fell in love with the woman sitting next to him and a big part of why she fell in love with him.

But I’m not any woman, I’m his baby sister. “Audra, I love you. I want you to be safe. And this? Worries me more than you

disappearing without a word.” He closes his eyes, breathes in and out again. And again. “I guess you know what you’re doing. Just . . . be careful.”

Chapter Four Audra

I shoot Sebastian a text on my way out to the parking lot so he’ll be in the loop in case anyone asks questions or he needs to alter his plans for the evening.

Hey, we’re supposed to be on a date tonight so lay low The three little dots appear right away, as though he was waiting to hear from me like a

dutiful little boyfriend. Which isn’t true. I suspect his phone stays in his hand, maybe even when he’s in bed. You never know when a good scheme is going to go bad.

Why are you now imagining Sebastian in bed? I smack my forehead on my padded steering wheel before putting the car into gear.

Sebastian is, by anyone’s standards, attractive. He’s got a handsome, clean-cut look—dark blond locks with a slight curl at the tips of his ears and the nape of his neck, deep brown eyes that make you want to climb in and snuggle up for a chat. A lanky frame with just the right amount of muscle tone across his chest and down his arms.

It’s as though God made him the same way he gives carnivorous flowers beautiful blooms or the way Stephenie Meyer imagined vampires were engineered—sexy, attractive, electric exteriors crafted to draw in unsuspecting prey.

And now I’m wondering whether Sebastian might sparkle in the sunshine. My phone vibrates again but I manage to wait until I pull up at a stop sign to check it,

because I am a goody two-shoes rule follower like that, and also I don’t want to die and have my family shaking their heads at my funeral because they found a half-finished text on my mangled phone.

Same reason I never, ever leave the parking spot without my seat belt secured. Not good enough. I guess we’re going to a party. My fingers are crossed all the way up the back stairs at the Kappa house, hoping Blair

will have decided to stay in tonight. The semester hasn’t really picked up steam yet, which means she has a ton of homework or not much at all, depending on the kind of professors she’s drawn. I push aside the thought of schoolwork, nauseous over the amount of work I’m going to have to do to catch up on more than two weeks of missed classes.

I’ve been doing what I can online, but not all professors are amenable to the histrionics of their female students. Which maybe means feminism is working, so yay?

“Hey,” I gasp, out of breath. Not that hurrying would have changed my outcome one way or the other. “Are you busy?”

Blair glances down at her gray shorts and green tank top, white bra straps peeking out on both shoulders, then gives me a look like I just answered my own question.

“Right. Um, do you want to go to a party?” “Not really.” She casts a look at her accounting book that could set it on fire, then sighs.

“What kind of party?” “A baseball party, I think?” “It’s February.” “I know. They’re getting ready to start their workouts next week, so this is like their last

weekend of abusing their bodies with toxins or whatever.” I bite my lip. “Please? Sebastian’s insisting I go because I told Cole we were going on a date tonight, and he says we have to follow through on things because—”

“Fucking breathe, Audra. I’ll go.” She rearranges her face into a stern expression. “But only because I’m still not convinced I should leave you alone with him.”

“You and Cole both.”

She snorts, sliding off the bed and disappearing into her closet. “Yeah, I bet that went over like a lead balloon.”

I step into my own walk-in closet, thumbing through clothes trying to decide if I own anything that says I’m into pervs and sociopaths. Maybe just a black dress.

“It would have been a lot worse if Ruby hadn’t been there,” I say, loud enough for her to hear me through the wall. “Cole couldn’t exactly get all macho in front of her, plus before I got there she’d had some kind of talk with him about respecting my boundaries.”

The dress slides into place, comfortable but clingy, and I slip into a pair of zebra-print heels before stomping out of the closet and doing a twirl.

Blair gives a nod of approval as she watches me in the mirror, her eyes open wide while she swipes on eyeliner. “That’s got to be a first for you, right? I bet you didn’t even know you were allowed to have boundaries when it comes to your brothers.”

“You’re hilarious.” “It’s funny because it’s true.” I smile and bump her with my hip, shoving her sideways so there’s room for both of us

to put on our makeup in front of the mirror. “It did feel kind of amazing, though. Standing up for myself, even if it’s not because I want to go out with Sebastian.”

“I’m sure it did.” She passes a tube of lip gloss over her mouth, pinches her cheeks, and calls it good. “Don’t confuse flying high about cutting your own little piece of the Stuart pie with feeling good about dating Sebastian. You’ve got to remember this is a setup, A.”

That makes me roll my eyes, smudging my fresh mascara. “I know that. You don’t seriously think I’m going to end up falling for him, do you?”

“Stranger things have happened.” “I don’t know about that.” We finish getting ready and Blair texts Kennedy to invite her and Toby to come along—

they’re living together off campus now, speaking of strange things that have happened. “They’re going to come here. Ten minutes.” By the time we put on the final touches—jewelry, perfume, sweaters—and make it

downstairs, Toby’s Jag is idling by the curb. I swing open the door and make a retching sound that encourages them untangle and resettle in their own seats.

“I feel like I could get pregnant breathing the air in here,” Blair quips as Kennedy climbs out to let us into the back.

She gives me a sheepish smile. “Hey. Glad you’re back.” She doesn’t ask any questions, but girls with pasts like Kennedy’s usually don’t. They

spent too long avoiding answering them. It’s one of the things that makes her a good friend—but ensures she’ll never be too good of a friend. Her instincts and willingness to get close to people are getting better every day but aren’t quite there yet.

“Thanks. It’s good to be back.” I return her smile, happy to see her so happy. And sober.

Toby twists in the driver’s seat, flashing an easy, dimpled smile at the two of us. “Ladies. Where can I squire you this evening? Aside from to your doom, at least in your case, Audra.”

“You told them?” I groan, glaring toward my roommate. She shrugs, her dark eyes full of exasperation. Her eyebrows go up in a silent question:

Do you want to dive in headfirst or don’t you? “I told her we were going to the baseball party because you were meeting Sebastian. It’s just the truth. Don’t get mad at me because everyone hates your new boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Well, this is all very interesting girly talk, but do you have the address?” Toby puts the car into drive, then pulls out of the sorority house parking lot after Blair gives him the address. His soft gaze finds mine in the rearview mirror. “For what it’s worth, Audra, you do want to step carefully. The guy’s a mystery at best, a budding serial killer at worst.”

“I know. I’m not going into this with blinders on.” He and Kennedy exchange a glance and irritation heats my face. The two of them were

the biggest hot mess in the history of hot messes less than a year ago, and now they want to act as though I’m wandering into a disaster zone with no clue? They’ve got nerve.

No one says anything else during the ten-minute drive to the baseball players’ off-campus house. It’s a traditional Florida two-story, white with black shutters, and like most property owned by Whitman students or their parents, too nice for someone who can’t legally drink yet.

The landscaping in the front is professional, holly bushes perfectly trimmed and bright, bright green, as I follow my friends up the slate path to the front porch. My heart speeds up and my palms slick with sweat, which works in my favor if anyone is looking for the girl nervous about meeting Sebastian for a date.

In reality, my nerves result from the idea of not just tonight, but of this whole agreement. At dinner with Cole, while it was still a theory, it puffed out my chest. Empowered me with false pride. Now, standing in the face of putting the plan into practice, my future is less shiny.

I’m going to walk into that house and spend at least a couple of hours with the guy everyone on campus would name Most Likely to Have Bodies Hidden in His Freezer. No competition.

Not only that, but I’ve got to convince those same people that I like him. This is a job for someone with Ruby’s acting skills, not mine. I haven’t declared a major

yet, but theatre isn’t even on the list—that’s Cole’s thing. Panic rises inside me, thickening my blood until it slows in my veins. I can’t do this. What was I thinking?

Blair grabs my arm, her unpainted nails digging into my flesh. “You guys go ahead.” Kennedy and Toby trade another look, the kind shared by couples who have spent

enough time together to pass an ESP test, but don’t argue. Their joined hands swing slightly between their bodies as they amble through the half-open front door.

“You’re freaking out.” The pain in my arm from her tight grip anchors me, snaps me back to reality. This is a

game. I’ve got to play it or my life at Whitman is going to get even more uncomfortable. “I’m okay.”

Her dark eyes meet mine, skeptical. “Can I give you some advice?” “Advice on how to con people? From experience?” I’m teasing her, but my interest is

piqued. Ever since the truth about her father came out, that part of her life has fascinated me.

She doesn’t like to talk about it, even though it’s easy to sense that sometimes she misses the excitement.

Maybe because sometimes she misses the excitement. Like she’s an addict who stays away from bars in order to avoid the temptation.

“Whatever. Yes. Here it is.” She tries to thwart a smile without much success. “You’re in control. You’re the one with the knowledge—with access to the truth. You decide what to feed the idiots lapping up the gossip.”

Blair’s words sink in, thinning my hysteria until it’s easy to breathe again. Until my blood feels slick in my veins. “I’m in control.”

“They might have their suspicions, and people are going to come up with all kinds of theories about why you left and why you came back and whether Sebastian had anything to do with it and also maybe that you’re insane.”

“Thanks.” “But they don’t know anything. Remember that.” “I got it. They believe what I tell them.” “Own your story.” “I feel like you’re going to smack my ass and tell me to get in there now.” I laugh, a

sound that’s too tight. Not quite mine, but getting there. “Isn’t that how you Americans follow up your pep talks?”

“Maybe if I was a professional football player.” She shakes her head, still smiling. “Ready?”

“Yep, let’s do it.” My spine is straight, my palms drier now as we hike through the front door. An empty

foyer greets us but the thumping of bass and chattering murmur of a roomful of people pull us through the kitchen and into the backyard. It’s not much in the way of a party, at least not the way television channels like the CW would have people believe college looks—no twinkle lights or little lanterns, just a fire pit, a keg, and a bunch of overly attractive kids.

They got the last part right, anyway. The back of my neck tingles as I turn from the keg and find Sebastian’s dark eyes

lingering on me. I take a gulp of beer, then another, and head in his direction. It’s time to pay the sleazy, blackmailing piper.

Chapter Five Sebastian

She looks so pretty it tightens my fist on my flask, pushing a surge of relief through me that her back was turned. The last thing I need is for her to pity me—like maybe I asked her to take part in this whole charade because of some silly schoolboy crush.

I have never been silly, and the schoolboy role has been an ill-fitting second skin since kindergarten. Classes aren’t hard for me, but caring about grades—arbitrary marks from professors who barely know how to relate to other human beings, never mind instruct with any enthusiasm—is. The ones who are upbeat annoy me even more, usually because they’re overly involved in student gossip and have a likeminded grudge against me.

Audra swings around, her clingy black dress swirling around her very nice legs. The tanned bodies most of the girls flaunt in Florida turn me on, but ever since Logan showed me those videos, slim, soft-looking skin invades more and more of my fantasies.

She starts toward me and I swallow hard, wondering if there’s some way to sate my baser appetites with others while we’re pretending to date. I’m going to have to figure out something or my balls are going to be the bluest at Whitman by graduation day.

I’ve got things under control by the time she steps to my side, her smile a sexy reminder that we have a secret. Her citrus perfume washes over me, clinging to the inside of my nose.

“Glad you made it.” I nod toward her friends. “I see you brought reinforcements.” Blair Paddington eyes me from her spot by the keg. She’s listening to something

Kennedy Gilbert is saying, no doubt about how Audra has lost her fool mind, going out with me. They hauled Toby Wright along for their estrogen fest, a guy who might be one of my better shots as far as a job in politics. His father is up for reelection next year and probably has a southwest regional headquarters, since they’re from North Carolina.

Not to mention Wright has a hero complex the size of Canada, taking on the full-time job of dating Kennedy. With a smile and a ready boner, no less. The girl might be healthier and still on the wagon—my sources tell me she hasn’t shown up at any of her old haunts, other than AA—but the kind of problems she has never leave empty closets.

Just ask my mother. “I didn’t want to show up alone.” She shrugs, looking more comfortable with this whole

thing than expected. “Besides, if this were an actual date, you’d pick me up, right?” “For the purposes of this experiment let’s say yes.” Blair and Kennedy wander away as

Toby turns toward a couple of the baseball players, probably to discuss something uninteresting and macho like sports. The girls head our way and I pull out my flask, taking two giant swallows of my favorite rye whiskey. It burns, but not as much as the humiliation I’m about to suffer. I nod in the direction of the girls. “Get your game face on, Red.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, that’s original.” “I’ll work on it.” “Sebastian.” Blair looks almost amused. Almost. As though we’re sparring partners and

she’s about to hurt me accidentally on purpose. “I’d like to say it’s nice to see you here, but you know. I’m not a liar.”

“How exactly does a professional con man manage that?” “First of all it’s con woman, you misogynistic prick, and second, that’s all behind me.” “Right, the boy.” A sneer twists my lips out of nowhere but there’s no point in checking

it. Instead, I change my focus. “Kennedy.” “Sebastian,” she replies softly, her eyes wandering back to Toby. “How are you?” The question takes me aback, almost as much as the fact that Audra looks as good in

that black dress as she does in nothing. I shift closer to her, slipping an arm around her waist

and hugging her against me in an attempt to distract them all from my discomfort. “No complaints.”

Audra stiffens but her smile stays in place. “Who is Toby talking to?” “Oh, some baseball players. About our soccer team’s chances in the spring or some

other nonsense.” Kennedy flutters a hand, dismissive. “So, how long have you guys been dating? How did it start?”

We haven’t discussed details which, in hindsight, perhaps should have been done before our public debut. I knew after the website came down Audra would feel one hundred percent stuck in our arrangement, but she’s moved faster than anticipated, outing us to her brother and Ruby Cotton already.

I realize she’s not talking. Which means she’s waiting on me to come up with a decent story, an assumption proven by the expectant, slightly desperate expression in her emerald eyes.

“We were both at that porn movie house downtown and saw each other on the way out.”

Blair’s mouth falls open and even Kennedy startles. Audra heaves a giant sigh and elbows me in the ribs harder than necessary. “He’s lying.

We ran into each in line at an actual movie—that new Nicholas Sparks romance, which he refers to as tragedy porn—and ended up seeing it together. He even brought a handkerchief.”

“I always carry a handkerchief,” I mutter, exasperated by her attempt to emasculate me in front of her friends. “It wasn’t because of the movie.”

She smiles, sugary sweet and annoying. “Well, either way I was thankful.” “That’s an . . . interesting story,” Blair says, the doubt in her sharp gaze pricking me. The need to extract myself from their scrutiny increases until my feet move without my

permission. “I’m going to get a beer.” It’s cooler away from their collective disdain and the heat of Audra’s body, and by the

time I’m ten steps away my lungs fill and release air with more ease even though everyone knows I would never drink beer from a keg.

It’s a party, though, so standing around alone isn’t an option. There are always angles to work, conversations to overhear, plots to hatch while pretending to listen to vapid chit-chat swirl around me.

As I spot Toby again, it occurs to me there might be an even more productive option. “Hey,” I greet him, insinuating myself into his conversation with the baseball players.

For what it’s worth, he looks like he’d rather scoop out his eardrums with a melon baller than keep listening to them ramble.

Relief crosses his all-American face. Not that he’s typically glad to see me or anything, but we’re brothers and, at least in public, the other SEAs treat me like one of their own.

Unless I’m fucking with one of their girlfriends. “Seb! What’s up?” He gives the baseball guys, who resemble the statues of Neanderthals

in the Museum of Natural History, an apologetic look and turns his back, dragging me a little ways away. “Thanks. They were going on and on about the statistics of every goddamn pitcher on the team and my eyes felt like they turned to glass. They called me dude.”

“No problem. I was being ambushed by a rabid group of half-drunk Kappas, so you’re helping me, too.” I take a nip off my flask and Toby chugs half his plastic cup of watery beer.

“I have to say, it surprised me that you’d be here. Not much in it for you, hanging out with athletes.” Toby nods toward my flask. “You’re not much of a beer drinker.”

“Oh, come on, Toby, you know any party holds more intrigue than sitting home alone. Why don’t you say what you’re really thinking—that you’re surprised about Audra and me.”

“I won’t be the last.” He finishes his beer and tosses the red plastic cup in the nearest trash can, not bothering to refill it. The antithesis of the frat boy in several ways, Toby’s not a big drinker. Wasn’t even before he fell in love with a recovering alcoholic, but now he’s even more careful about it.

“Well, I’d say it’s no one’s business, but given that I’ve made a college career out of sticking my nose into other people’s there’s probably not much point.”

That makes him laugh, a little bit of tension falling out of his shoulders, and when he opens his mouth again the subject has changed. “Have you got any ideas for the philanthropy fund-raiser?”

“No. I mean, we can go with the same old, same old big party thing, but I think something different would be more effective.” My wheels have been turning on the subject, just to have something to do other than bide time until graduation, but the problem is that college kids don’t give a shit about what cause they’re supporting, only that they get to drink while doing it. “I’ve been trying to brainstorm an event that would bring the attention back to MS, but it might be a losing battle.”

Toby raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything right away. It’s easy enough to read his mind—he’s trying to figure out why I even care, why I agreed to be on the philanthropy committee in the first place. It was my first attempt at changing my image but so far it hasn’t done much other than make people wonder what I’m up to this time. Probably because no one gives a shit about the philanthropy committee. The only reason Toby’s asking is because as chair, it’s even more his problem than mine.

“We’ll figure it out.” He runs a hand through his spiky brown hair. “It’s late notice, but if we do it over St. Patrick’s Day we could do some kind of pub crawl.”

“A little distasteful considering people with MS aren’t able to exercise normal muscle function.”

His cheeks color. “Right. Yeah, of course you’re right. The trick is coming up with something PC that also brings in at least as much money as last year’s beach house rager.”

“I know. But Quinn’s done hosting those parties, and to be honest, I’m not interested, either.”

“Because of Audra Stuart?” A little voice in the back of my mind tells me to tread lightly. That he’s not my friend,

not really. He’s on their side. Kennedy’s. He wants to know what the hell’s going on as badly as they do but there’s one thing Toby doesn’t know. That nobody does.

There’s something I need from him, too, so at least the appearance of transparency is necessary.

“We just started seeing each other but she’s not like the other girls I’ve dated.” I look toward Kennedy, trying my best to come up with a genuine smile. “You should know what kind of change the right person can enact on your life.”

“I suppose.” He’s not buying it, a fact that only ups his intelligence in my mind. But my relationship

with Audra isn’t my primary sales goal, anyway. “How’s your dad’s campaign shaping up?” That earns me back his attention, his moony expression snapping into mild interest. “For

reelection next year? It’s going to be a rough race, I think. The whole world’s diversifying, even North Carolina. The day of the middle-aged old-money, white male congressman may be coming to an end.”

“I don’t think that’s true. He just needs a new strategy.” A way to wow him, to make him think of me as something other than his sleazy but occasionally useful frat brother, brews in my mind, but the steady thunder is interrupted by a bolt of lightning.

Two, actually, in the form of Audra’s twin brothers, Lawren and Lennox. There’s no obvious way to tell them apart, but by the way their angry eyes and tight jaws lock on me across the yard, there’s no reason to try. They hate me equally. If I’m not careful they’re going to put twin fists in my kidneys.

“I’m guessing they’ve heard about your new relationship,” Toby mutters, his tone dry as he watches them approach.

I take a deep breath and catch Audra’s eye, communicating trouble. She spots her brothers and moves quickly to my side, ready to play her part. Put out the flames if possible.

All the Stuart boys have a reputation for being nice, well-spoken, well-bred guys who are smart, keep their heads down, don’t party excessively but like to have a good time. The girls on campus adore them.

They also consider sheltering their little sister a full-time job. She reaches me at the same moment they do. One of them glares at her while the other

steps too close, invading my space. He doesn’t touch me, though, which is good. My patience only extends so far.

“You Blair?” “Sebastian, yes.” I stick out my hand to the one who spoke. “And you are?” “I’m not going to shake your hand. I’ve manage to come this far in my life without

contracting an STD.” “Nox, stop it.” Audra’s voice is small, smaller than anytime she’s addressed me. I don’t know whether to be miffed or indignant that she’s more scared of them. “Stop what, caring about you? Not gonna happen, sis.” “What can I do for you gentlemen?” I step forward slightly so that Audra’s behind me.

Given the illusion of protection. My blood boils but my face stays calm, my voice even. My lack of emotion unnerves the brothers, as it does most people, and they exchange a glance. Maybe unwilling to take things further when I’m being polite.

Technically. “We wanted to meet you,” the other one says. Lawren. “Because we meet all of Audra’s

boyfriends, but for some reason, you’re a secret. Although with your reputation it’s not hard to guess why.”

I spread my hands. “Not a secret, boys. We’ve just been too busy fucking to come over for a visit.”

The words are out of my mouth before I can rethink them. Audra’s sharp intake of air finds my ears, but fuck it—she’s not going anywhere. My fingers tighten on hers, squeezing tight enough to remind her of that fact.

The color drains from Nox’s face and floods Law’s, as though they’re still connected by an umbilical cord. Anticipation unspools in my muscles, turning them into coiled springs ready to release—because one of them is going to take a swing at me.

It’s the pale one that does it, all of the blood from his brain pooled in his fist, but I’ve been hit enough to have developed decent reflexes to avoid it.

I twist to the side and duck as his meaty, Scottish fist flies past my cheek with a whistle and a swish of air, narrowly missing Audra. Instead of standing and giving him another shot I take two quick steps forward, then straighten up, brushing nonexistent dust off the crease in my pants.

Two of the baseball players, probably the ones who live here and have a vested interest in the cops not being called, restrain Lawren. Toby’s standing between Nox and me, talking softly as the taller, beefier Stuart brother nods too fast, his breath coming in angry pants like a bull pawing the ground in front of a red cape.

Audra presses her pretty rosy lips together until they’re thin and white, disgusting me further. Her skin pales underneath her carmel-colored freckles until her red hair appears to be on fire, but when she turns to her brothers, putting herself between me and them, her voice is steady.

It makes me proud, just for a moment, to be in this with her. Two people who understand the value of being the calm one in situations like this one. The power it gives us.

“I’m leaving. Sebastian’s taking me home. You don’t need to worry about me.” She holds up her hands when they start to protest in a single breath. “Fine, worry about me. I’ll check in later and Blair will call you if I’m not snuggled in bed by two.”

Blair and Kennedy raced over when the proverbial shit started to hit the fan, and Audra exchanges a quick, indecipherable glance with her roommate before putting her arm around my bicep, squeezing hard. “We need to talk.”

She’s quiet, her hand still pinching my muscle as she steers me through the house and out the front door. I allow her forceful show until we’re free of prying eyes and then yank my arm away and dig my keys out of my pocket. Normally I’d use a car service, but I’m going to sell my Mercedes next week to hoard some much-needed cash and wanted to take it for one last spin.

“Are you going to continue to drag me around like a little boy? Do you even know where you’re going?”

“No.” Her lips open long enough to loose the single word and then press together again. Inside, I had gauged her controlled reaction as strength, but now I notice the bright

sheen of tears in her eyes. I wait for the swell of disgust, because it never fails to accompany the sight of weakness in other people. It’s one of the reasons that women irritate me. They not only have a tendency to cry but they use weakness—or the illusion of it, when it suits them—and expect to be coddled.

Everyone gets treated the same. Which means if they cry, I walk away. Usually. Now, something rips a little bit in my chest at the sight of her unhappiness. She’s not

blaming it on me or waiting for sympathy. In fact, the tears are gone now, as fast as they appeared.

I take my cue from her and ignore the whole incident, leading the way down the block to where my black sedan is parked at the curb. She opens her own door and slides into the passenger seat, the click of the seat belt greeting me as I climb behind the wheel. A quick count to ten gives me enough time to assess my faculties. I’m okay to drive.

Being arrested wouldn’t do, not now, and not when Teddy Rowland held inheritance and a future over my head in high school. Funny how most people discuss my delinquency as though it’s canon but not one single person at this entire school actually knows anything about me.

Whose fault is that? The quiet voice in my head has been around for years, my own personal Jiminy Cricket.

It’s always sounded a bit like Quinn—the younger, preteen version that thought having a sibling would be great fun.

My half brother is the closest thing to a friend I’ve ever had, but lately neither of us bothers pretending it’s more than a convenient alliance, at best. Since he met Emilie our

relationship has been even cooler than that, but he’s too nice of a guy to write me all the way off.

Soft-hearted idiot. I turn the wheel toward campus, figuring she’ll want to be rid of me and our

unsuccessful public appearance as soon as possible. Audra surprises me with a soft hand on my forearm. “Are you hungry?” “What?” “Hungry. You know, food? I’m dying for a cheeseburger or a chocolate milk shake. Or

both.” Her lips are still thin and now she’s worrying at the bottom one with her teeth. The color hasn’t returned to her face. “Like Whataburger?”

“That place is disgusting. Do you even know what they put in their food?” My stomach clenches at the thought of putting any of it in my mouth. There are some things about growing up rich, at least for the past ten years, that are going to be harder than hell to shake, starting with the fact that I’ve never eaten a taco or anything else handled by pimply teenagers working a drive-through.

She shrugs, managing to relax the tiniest bit. “I know it’s awful, but might as well take advantage of this metabolism while I’ve got it. Plus there’s nothing like Whataburger where I’m from.”

“Elgin? Is it like Mars over there?” I’ve been abroad and while it’s true there aren’t quite as many McDonald’s and Starbucks and the options for killing yourself via excess calories are more limited, it’s not impossible.

“We’re pretty isolated,” she murmurs, her gaze trained out the window. There are rumors about the Stuarts—how much money they have, where it came from,

whether the boys really wear kilts and crowns at home, that they live in an actual castle—but I squash the desire to ask. This is a business arrangement, nothing more. We shouldn’t even go grab her a burger, but there’s something so fragile about Audra at the moment. It isn’t a good idea to send her home that way, with Blair and her brothers and who knows who else waiting to pump her for the truth.

“Fine. Whataburger.” There are at least four of the greasy fast-food chains within quick driving distance from

Whitman. The closest is a popular spot for students to congregate after the bars close—they serve breakfast all day, and the food is cheap, and drunk college kids love nothing more than an extra hour to seal the deal.

I pilot us to the farthest franchise from campus and we get out of the car, Audra pulling a sweater tighter around her. Before I know what’s happened I’m out of my jacket and draping it around her shoulders, noticing now that a wet chill infects the midnight air. Florida might be preparing for a thunderstorm before dawn.

“Thanks.” A flicker of something trembles in her gaze—maybe confusion—making me think she’s going to refuse my baffling gift but instead she clutches it even tighter as we step inside the restaurant.

The woman behind the counter wears a stupid striped orange-and-white shirt and a hat that she might have stolen from a 1950s carnie frying funnel cakes. She asks if she can take our order. Audra requests her bacon cheeseburger and chocolate shake, then turns to me with her eyebrows raised.

I can’t stop the grimace and shake my head. “Nothing for me, thanks.” We stand around in awkward silence for the ten minutes it takes for them to hand over

her foul-smelling snack. Fast food, my ass. The booth Audra chooses is made of molded

plastic that finds every bone in my lower body, shoving me into the most uncomfortable sitting state known to man.

She opens a package of ketchup and dips her burger in it one bite at a time, a forlorn, distant expression on her pale face. I may not want to get to know her better, but sitting here not saying anything for the next half hour feels like Chinese water torture.

Plus, getting to know people is the best way to figure out how to play them. “Why do you let them push you around like that? Your brothers.” It takes a moment for

her gaze to focus on me, and when it does, I can feel her hostility. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” I spread my hands in mock surrender, regretting my snapped response at the party.

There’s really no need to make this whole relationship harder, not if we want the people in her life to believe us, but I don’t have much practice not stirring the pot. I make a living riding the ripples.

“Pretend I’m actually a guy you want to date that your brothers don’t approve of—a guy you like,” I persist at the distaste on her face. “Because that’s going to happen one day and you’re going to have to stand up to them. You’re an adult. They’re going to have to respect that eventually.”

It looks as though she’s going to tell me exactly where I can stick my nose instead of her business, but then her shoulders slump. She takes a giant slurp of chocolate ice cream and sighs, eyeing me. “I know.”

“You know what?” “That they can’t keep treating me like a little kid.” She gives me a small smile. “Crazy me,

I was actually thinking this would be sort of fun, you and me. Give me a chance to go against their wishes in a big, showy way and then when I find someone new and awesome they’ll just be glad.”

The statement insults me but I hide the reaction from her. She’s being honest and I’m not one to discourage such a thing, even at the expense of my own ego. Audra Stuart is not the type of girl I’d date. I’m not the guy for her no matter what kind of thrill she’s getting from ignoring her brothers’ wishes for the first time in her life.

I don’t know why I feel the need to remind myself of those facts. “But?” She swallows one last bite of cheeseburger, polishing off the whole oversized thing, and

wipes grease and ketchup from her lips. “Do you think you could make this whole thing a little easier on both of us?”

The shift in subject, in tone, straightens my spine. She’d lulled me with her silence and her almost-tears and weak requests for sustenance, but this girl? Needs to be watched.

“Easy really isn’t my specialty, peach.” “Ugh, that is so creepy. Worse than Red. Keep trying.” That smile again, but more tired

this time. “Look, I’m not saying you need to act like you had a lobotomy over Christmas break. But it’s going to be less problematic for me to convince my family and friends that you’re not so bad if you’re not disrespecting me to their faces. That’s all.”

Exhaustion etches lines on her forehead and around her eyes, giving me a sneak preview of Audra thirty years from now. Just as lovely, but with more wisdom to drag along for the ride. Her naïveté both draws me toward her and churns hatred for her.

But she has a point. We made a deal and yes, she has plenty of reason to see it through since she knows I can ruin her reputation and make things hard for her family with a click of my finger, but that doesn’t mean having unrealistic expectations is going to work.

I mean, I can’t expect her to endure disbelief and one intervention after another for the next four months without breaking. Not when this is ultimately about changing my image, not hers. So I close my eyes, count to five, and open them again. Tears return, give her emerald gaze a sheen, but they’re still stubbornly held at bay.

Another chunk of something rattles loose inside me. “Okay.” “Okay?” Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. They’re as fiery as her hair and lead to

inappropriate thoughts about how everything on her body matches. “I’m conceding that you have a point. This is your end of the bargain but we’re going to

have to work together to make it viable.” She squints at me. “Are you sure you don’t want to let me in on the reason for this

whole ruse? Might make it easier for me to help.” “Let’s just go with the goal of your brothers not kicking my ass before May, yeah?” That makes her laugh, but the sound is as tired as the rest of her. She pushes her milk

shake across the table. “Have a drink, Sebastian. Consider it a peace offering, and also your first lesson in how to be more likable.”

“Oh, enlighten me.” “It’s pretty basic—relax. It’s chocolate and milk and ice cream, not ebola. Have a drink.” There are about a million expressions that all basically boil down to one: no pain, no

gain. There’s no way to be able to work the connections that run rampant through Whitman’s networks without presenting a different face to the world. Right now, that means playing the kind of boyfriend Audra Stuart would want around.

But what it also means—what scares the shit out of me—is letting people see behind the mask.

I wrap my fingers around the freezing cold paper cup, put my lips on the same straw that was in someone else’s mouth less than five minutes ago, and take a drink.

It is, surprisingly, delicious.