"The lifestyle's nice, but it's ridiculous. When you think about how we live—just over the bridge in our crappy apartments, it seems opulent. When you think about how people all over the world live—in shantytowns, without running water or electricity—it's too much. But Lucas gives a ton of money to charity. He's wealthy because he's brilliant and he's worked hard his entire life. He doesn't even seem to care about material things."
My sister snorted. "That sounds like one of those actresses—like Kristen Stewart—who says they don't care about being famous, but they are so famous. That's a problem I'd like to have. I care about material things. I just wish I had more of them to care about."
"Then you should try getting a job." With all the effort she put into getting something for nothing, it was like a full-time job anyway.
"I'm thinking about going back to school." She dove into her appetizer of bacon-wrapped scallops and moaned, fluttering her eyelids. "These are so good." She didn't offer me any.
"You mean to get your GED?"
"I graduated from high school," she snapped.
"Barely."
She leaned across the table and glared at me. "For a hooker, you seriously have a superiority complex."
"Please keep your voice down," I begged.
"You need to stop acting like you're better than the rest of us."
"I don't think I'm better than anybody else." I picked at my wedge salad, wishing we were finished and I could get the hell away from her. "So… school for what?" I hated to ask, but this was the portion of the program where Chelsea finally got to the point. I motioned to the waiter for more wine, because I felt certain it was going to be a doozy.
"Acting school. There's this really great one in New York that I want to apply to." My sister's eyes glittered with excitement.
"I didn't know you wanted to be an actress." I thought you just wanted to be a diva, with a driver, Louis Vuitton luggage, and a pair of big-ass sunglasses. On your Miller-Lite budget.
"I'm thinking about trying out for The Bachelorette." She tossed her hair. "You don't have to be a
n actress to get on there, but I bet it helps. I would kill it on that show. I'm totally perfect for it."
I opened my mouth and then closed it. Chelsea, queen of looking good for no reason, constant scheming and zero loyalty, would totally kill it on The Bachelorette.
The idea of my sister relocating for school was immediately appealing, until it sank in that someone was going to have to fund her Manhattan lifestyle—me. "That sounds exciting, but isn't it expensive? I know school's pricey, anyway, but the cost of living in New York is crazy high." I knew this because Elena had looked into expanding AccommoDating into the New York market. She'd said the higher prices we could charge wouldn't offset the price for office space, which she called "completely fucking exorbitant."
Last time I checked, completely fucking exorbitant wasn't in my sister's budget.
"Tuition's about one hundred thousand dollars. And I'll need living expenses and money for clothes, of course." Chelsea casually adjusted her sparkly tank top. "You can't dress like a hick in New York."
"Wow. That's a lot of money. Vince is going to need to pony up on the alimony payments."
"Vince isn't going to pay for it, silly! What he gives me is, like, coffee money compared to what I'll need." She grinned and my stomach sank. "The money's going to come from you. You're the only one I know who has any!"
I shook my head. "I don't have any money, though. Lucas has all the money, and I'm not asking him for a hundred thousand dollars to send you to acting school just so you can have a rose ceremony on ABC."
"But you have to ask him!" she said a little too brightly.
"Why?"
Chelsea leaned forward, her grin becoming triumphant. "Because if you don't, I'm going to tell his family and the press and anybody else who'll listen to me that you're a hooker. That before he picked you up and dusted you off, you were literally a filthy whore."
I recoiled from her words and the venom in her voice. "What did I ever do to you?" I didn't know why she hated me so much. First, she'd stolen Vince. Now, she was trying to ruin me so she could afford to keep herself in gel manicures and Jimmy Choos as she stalked around Manhattan, hoping to meet her near-future husband on the reality television circuit.
She didn't even blink. "You think you're better than me."
"You stole my fiancé, and you just threatened to blackmail me. I am better than you."
She arched an eyebrow. "See? It's that. Right there."
"What?"