Survival of the Richest (The Trust Fund Duet 1)

“What about a bookstore?” I ask, sketching out a Cleopatra reading a book with that Mona Lisa smile on her face. Why can’t she look any other way but sultry?

“Oh, that would be cool,” Avery says, because she’s that kind of friend. Supportive, even when you have dumb ideas. “Aren’t bookstores going out of business, though?”

“There’s really no way a bookstore can earn back what they put into it, not even if they sell a thousand books a day. Besides, it wouldn’t be the same.”

“The same as what?”

“This library… I wish you could see it. You’d just die. And probably find some out-of-print book about Helen of Troy to make you have an orgasm right on the spot.”

“Mmmm,” she says, sounding a little orgasmic at the idea. “What if you create a little museum section in the mall, where it shows some of the old books?”

“So people can put down their slushies and pretzels on

the glass case?”

“I don’t understand why they even bought a library.”

“For the location. And a total lack of respect for old books. They think the mall is going to be some kind of commercial revival for the west side.”

She’s quiet for long enough that I know she’s holding out on me.

“Spill.”

“Maybe it really would be good for the city,” she says in a rush. “The books aren’t doing anyone any good collecting dust. An influx of cash from the rich side of the city might be exactly what the west side needs.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Gabriel.”

“And you still have the books,” she says. “You could sell them and use the money to create a new library. A smaller library that has books and a computer lab.”

“Way too much time with Gabriel. Now you’re practical and boring.”

“I forgot to mention you’re on speakerphone.”

A smile takes over no matter how hard I fight it. “I’m sorry, Gabriel. But I’m sorry in that way where I said something true and I’m only sorry you heard it. You’re rubbing off on her.”

“That’s my favorite thing to do with her,” he says, his voice far from the phone.

It makes me laugh, which is what I needed.

Gabriel is a good man, even if he did buy my best friend’s virginity as revenge. These things happen. The important thing is that he loves her. She only has to blink at something and he’ll pour his fortune into buying it for her. I’m almost certain they won’t end in tragedy, but you never really know with love.

That’s why I’m better off without it.

The Den is a place owned by a criminal and bastard, so naturally it’s spilling over with patrons when I show up at ten p.m. They wear suits and party dresses, laughter and drinks flowing freely when I step into the foyer. The crowd here is younger and more playful than the gala, but just as rich. Just as powerful in their own corner of the city.

From across the room I see Hugo with his head bent, speaking to Christopher and another man with a shaved head and muscles like whoa. I’ve never met the third man before. He stands and approaches the bar area, so I sidle up to him.

“Hi,” I say, dropping my rose-gold clutch on the mirrored surface.

He looks at me sideways. “Who are you?”

There’s a natural command in his voice, the kind that can only come from having been in charge of men for a long stretch of his life. Military? It’s in the way he holds himself. “A friend of Beatrix Cartwright. And Avery James.”

His eyes are a darker blue than Sutton, more midnight than ocean. “Ah.”

“Ah?”

“You’re the artist. The one Sutton talks about.”