STORY
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Things I’ve learned about Charlotte du Lac in my tenure with Grayson Crowne: she likes orchids, butterflies, and the novel Emma. She hates spiders, the color red, and mean girls. Ironic, considering who her friends are.
I was a Charlotte du Lac encyclopedia, and my head buzzed with what I’d learned. It was easier, better I focus on Charlotte, than what had just happened with Grayson.
“She really likes orchids,” I whispered to Gray. “And truffles…”
“I already knew that,” he said. “You’re supposed to tell me shit I don’t know.”
Downstairs his mother held another party, this one outside on the terrace. By the looks of the world-class cellist and the informally dressed guests, it was a casual brunch fundraiser.
“What about you, Snitch?” Gray asked, whisking a glass of champagne off a server. He wasn’t looking at me, eyes zeroed across the golden stone, where Lottie du Lac was.
Like everyone here, she was dressed down, in a simple skirt and collared sweatshirt, but she looked elegant. Her dark-brown hair was piled in silky curls atop her head. The right side was pressed down with elegant braids, gold circles intertwined in them.
“I don’t know…” I touched my wild, curly hair insecurely. “I’ve never received flowers. I don’t like getting things that die, and I don’t like sweets.” Unless I’m tasting them from your lips. “I like peanuts and boring stuff like that—oh! Lottie likes surprises.”
“No shit,” he said. “I’m starting to wonder what your fucking purpose is.”
A server wove amid the small crowd, carrying chocolate truffles shaped like cellos. Lottie reached for one, but he didn’t see her, walking away to the other side of the terrace.
Gray pulled a server aside, whispering something I couldn’t hear, eyes still locked on Lottie. A few seconds later, Lottie was surrounded by servers with truffles of all kinds.
She threw her head back on a laugh.
Gray couldn’t stop watching her, and I couldn’t stop watching Gray.
Grayson wore a black leather jacket, white T-shirt, dark jeans, and white sneakers. But like everyone else at this party, it somehow looked both casual and unaffordable. Maybe it was the way the leather shone, or the silky way his T-shirt clung to his pecs and abs.
“Did you know her favorite music is metal?”
He gave me a suspicious look. “No it isn’t.”
“Ha!” I pointed excitedly. “Finally something else Grayson Crowne doesn’t know about Lottie du Lac.”
I smiled a full-toothed smile, because I was so pleased with myself. Some emotion clouded his eyes. My smile dropped, suddenly nervous.
Insecure.
Grayson hasn’t stopped chewing on suckers, whatever he and his mom talked about clearly bothering him, but his face hadn’t changed, a total mask. I was starting to see through that, though.
“Did you know that love has the same side effects as cocaine?” I said. “It’s addictive. And butterflies in your stomach are real; they’re caused by adrenaline.”
His jaw tightened. “I don’t remember subscribing to Useless Facts Daily.”
My stomach rumbled. I’d barely eaten since I’d been with Grayson. I’d only managed to snack here and there on scraps I’d found at parties. It wasn’t sustainable. I knew that. I’d have to find a way to eat.
Grayson gazed at me with a strange look in his eyes, but it vanished. “Go find me something useful. I’m starting to rethink this deal we made.”
He walked off, weaving through Grecian columns. I left the opulent terrace to look for information—and something to eat. The only thing being served were pastries, though. I don’t want a fucking pastry. I want a plate of spaghetti.
Still, I snuck some truffles off the table anyway.
Across the way I spotted closely cropped silver curls and a light-gray suit. It was so hard to find time to talk to Uncle. I’d been swept away in Gray. I went to follow him, but a shoulder slammed into my back and I stumbled forward, barely catching myself on the thick ridges of the Grecian column.
“Oh, excuse me!”