Survival of the Richest (The Trust Fund Duet 1)

I stick out my tongue, which only makes him laugh. “Let’s call the temperamental artist to the table, because I’m ready to eat.”

“Oh, but we’re waiting for one more guest.”

“Really,” I say, flopping onto the antique couch with its bits of fluff peeking out. The penthouse is a curious mix of the old world and the new, much like the couple who inhabits it. Though Bea makes limited appearances in Tanglewood since they got together, they’re both very private. I’m curious who else has made their way into the inner circle.

“It’s an old friend,” Hugo says as he stirs some kind of soup on the small freestanding stove. He sounds almost embarrassed, as if he should not have any friends. Or maybe not any old ones.

“From Morocco?” I ask, knowing he was born there.

“Non, he came to Tanglewood around the same time I did. We shared a one-bedroom apartment before either of us could afford anything more.”

I ref

rain from asking whether this man also worked as a professional escort, but only barely. Maybe he still does that job. I could be persuaded to hire a ridiculously handsome man with nimble hands and an expressive mouth. Knowing Christopher would see the charge is a bonus.

“You will be disappointed,” Hugo says, sounding rueful.

“Can you always read women’s minds?”

He dips a fresh spoon into the sauce and tastes it. “Ah, that’s perfect. Salt and pepper and enough heat that it feels warm going down. And in answer to your question, usually.”

“That must have come in handy.”

“It is…” He searches for a word, looking perplexed. “A curse.”

I have to laugh. “It’s a great loss to the female kind that you’re now monogamous.”

A small bell rings near the elevator, which I assume means someone is coming up. “Well, perhaps you will not be disappointed. Sometimes you remind me of my old friend. It is the way you both seem to be more alive than the average person, more… feeling.”

“That’s also a curse,” I say, a little wry.

The elevator door opens, and none other than Sutton Mayfair walks in. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, his slacks a little rumpled. He clearly has spent a long day at work, maybe solved a great many problems related to economics and real estate and law. From my perch on the sofa I can watch him without him noticing me, not at first.

Hugo greets him with one of those manly back slaps and a French expletive. “A nineteen eighty-five Chablis? It’s truly indecent the volume of great wine we’ll enjoy tonight.”

Sutton takes a few steps into the penthouse and freezes. His expression is blank, which must be what surprise looks like on him. There’s no indication whether he’s happy to see me or whether he wishes he’d never come. No indication whether he likes this white gauzy evening gown, which was included with a few other dresses in the box that Avery sent.

She’s thorough, that girl.

I would have said I had no desire to see either Sutton or Christopher so soon after our country club confrontation, but I can’t deny the beat of pleasure in my veins. Colors seem more vibrant when Sutton’s in the room. The strains of piano through the door more bittersweet. This must be what Hugo meant, that he’s more alive than everyone else. More feeling.

“Harper,” he says, cautious the way he might be around an animal. Careful not to spook me. Do I seem so wild to him? There’s definitely something inside me that wants to be soothed by his large hands. It’s too dangerous, though. He’s too close to Christopher to be safe.

“You already know each other?” Hugo asks. “This is fortunate, then.”

“Fortunate,” I agree, though my voice is faint.

“She’s going to be working with us on the Tanglewood Library restoration.”

“I thought it was going to be more of a teardown and rebuild?”

“She’s changing that,” Sutton says, his voice warm with approval. And gratitude? Somehow I’ve gone from being the troublemaker to the guardian angel. “We’ll need the buy-in of the upper crust if we want to gentrify the west side.”

That snaps me out of my Southern-drawl-induced haze. “The west side? I haven’t spent a long time in Tanglewood, but isn’t that a really dangerous part of town?”

“You won’t be going there unescorted,” Sutton says.

Even though I have no desire to stroll through dark back alleys, I don’t want Sutton to worry about protecting me. It’s too close to what Christopher has done. “I can take care of myself.”