Escorting the Groom (The Escort Collection 4)

"She's actually not always fine." I let my eyes wander over my sister, noticing she had a new Coach purse and was wearing an expensive-looking, albeit tacky, tight-fitting rhinestone tank top. Her nails were freshly done and, as I'd already noticed, so was her hair. "Where'd you get all the fancy clothes?"

She shrugged. "Mom got me some new stuff."

"Mom?" I tensed. "How'd she do that?" I'd only sent my mother enough money for groceries, rent, and her medications. I would have sent more, but I'd feared my sister would swoop in and try to take some of Lucas's money while I was still on assignment.

"I asked her for a few new things." She ran her gel-manicured fingertips through her hair. "I figured, since our family's getting upgraded and all, I needed to look the part. It's nice, right?"

"Mom doesn't have any extra money to give you." My panic was rising. If Chelsea had talked her out of getting her prescriptions, I was going to freak.

"I know. So she opened a new credit card and told me I could get a few things. I only spent, like, two thousand dollars."

I started coughing so hard, she had to slap me on the back.

"Mom doesn't have two thousand dollars—plus interest," I spluttered.

"Now that you mention it, she doesn't, really…" Chelsea cocked her eyebrow. "But you do."

I shot her a shut-the-hell-up look and moved as far away from her as possible. "We'll talk about that at lunch."

We pulled up at The Palm, a pricey steakhouse that Chelsea had probably heard about on Keeping Up With the Kardashians. "I'll be waiting for you," Ian said, nodding as he helped us out.

"I could totally get used to this," my sister said.

I groaned inwardly but re-plastered that fake smile onto my face. I wasn't going to let Chelsea trip me up. She was here for a reason, and that reason had everything to do with her new Coach purse and the two thousand dollars she'd already racked up on my poor mother's credit card. She wanted more. She was the queen of wanting—scratch that, demanding—something for nothing.

We were ushered inside the cool, dark restaurant and seated in a booth. Chelsea immediately ordered a glass of Chardonnay, which was promptly delivered by our suit-clad waiter. Chelsea perused the menu, looking confused. "There aren't any prices!"

I groaned. "That just means it's ridiculously expensive, and that if you're eating here, you don't need to worry about it."

She sat back, appraising me. "Well, well, well. Your Highness certainly seems to have learned a thing or two about fine living."

I bristled against her words but tried not to show it. One thing Chelsea loved to do was press my buttons. "How's Vince?" I asked. I didn't care, but I felt as though she needed to be put in her place.

She shrugged. "He's a deadbeat. I don't know what you ever saw in him."

When I'd fallen in love with Vince, he was a boy with an athletic body and a lopsided smile. He paid attention to me. He made me feel very special for a very short period of time. When he turned cold, he left me scrambling to figure out what I'd done wrong. Which, when you had Daddy issues, was sort of exactly what you thought you deserved.

"He was my high school sweetheart, remember? And then he was my fiancé? And then you started sleeping with him, and he broke off our engagement a month before our wedding?" I grabbed her wine and took a gulp. "And then you married him. Is any of this ringing a bell?"

She grabbed her wine back and rolled her eyes at me. "I can't believe you're still hanging onto that. You need to let it go—it's ancient history."

I motioned for the waiter and ordered wine. If anyone could drive me to drink, it was my sister.

"He's trying to get out of paying me alimony, saying that our marriage was so short-term, I should be ready to be 'back in the workforce,'" Chelsea continued, not missing a beat. "Can you imagine? The nerve!"

I leaned forward. "I still don't understand how you ever got alimony in the first place. You were only married for a few years. No kids. What's the basis?"

Chelsea sniffed. "He wanted me to quit my job and stay home. To take care of him. To make his dinner and do his laundry."

"But as soon as he asked you, you quit your job at the bank. If I remember correctly, you were thrilled about it—it's not like he asked you to give up a job you loved."

She looked as though she was going to argue, but thankfully, the waiter interrupted us by serving my wine and taking our lunch order. Chelsea ordered the Chef's three-course tasting menu—probably because she pegged it as the most expensive—and then looked at me coyly across the sleek, wooden table. "So, enough about that. You're married and all now. To a billionaire." She played with her wine glass. "All fancy and uppity and all. And you're wearing Christian Louboutin shoes, for Christ's sake. What's it like?"

"What's what like?"

The coy look evaporated. "To be rich. To live like that, in a fancy apartment with a driver and more money than you know what to do with. What's it like?"

Chelsea had been hustling since the day she'd been born. She'd always wanted to live the high life; she had champagne tastes on a Miller Lite budget. When Vince had proved to be more talk than delivery in the earnings department, she had promptly divorced him. She'd been looking for Mr. Right-and-Rich ever since, and not necessarily in that order.