Survival of the Richest (The Trust Fund Duet 1)

“Good Lord. How much does it cost to wax the deck?”

Christopher gives me a half smile that looks so much like him as a college boy that my heart skips a beat. “That depends on how shiny you want it.”

“The library is a monument to knowledge and community and the irrepressible spirit of mankind. You can’t just tear it down and build a mall.”

“Malls are irrepressible. And profitable.”

There’s no way I can save the library. Failure makes my chest feel tight, which isn’t a totally new feeling. Especially when I’m in Christopher’s presence. Why do I always feel crushed when he walks away? And why do I keep seeking him out, even though I know how it will end?

I can’t save the library, but the worst part is I’m not sure I can save the mall project either. We would have to convince the historical society to let us build it.

Another cocktail appears in front of me, sent by the too-knowing Penny with sympathetic brown eyes. I take a large swallow of my cocktail, enough that even this top-shelf liquor makes my throat burn.

“You can use the office,” Christopher says. “Invite them over and show them the plans. I don’t mind letting them see, but I’m not going to change a damn thing.”

“There’s the spirit of compromise and community that will endear you to them.”

Penny shines a perfectly clean glass with a rag, managing to look conspicuous as she does it. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I’ve met some of the women in the historical society.”

“Are you friends with them?” I ask hopefully.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I like to think I know how they operate. And if you bring them into a boardroom and show them documents that are already drafted, they’re going to say no.”

“That’s what I’m thinking, too. And the worst part is I don’t totally disagree with them. It’s a gorgeous building. It should be lovingly restored, not torn down for the land.”

Christopher gives me a dire look. “And Sutton asks why I don’t think it’s a good idea, you being our liaison with them. Maybe because you’re not on our side.”

“I’m not on anyone’s side,” I tell him, annoyed. “I’m on my own side. There’s only me on this side. You and Sutton, you’re not invited.”

A smile plays on Penny’s lips. “Did you hear about the show that’s come to the Grand? It’s sold out on Broadway, with limited tour dates, so it’s a coup that we got a stop. One night only. Tomorrow night.”

The implications run through me like warm water. Mrs. Rosemont may have asked to hear details about the project, but it won’t help to show them to her. Those councilmen that are holding the permits in perpetual review? They’ll nix them for good. “So everyone will be there. Can we get tickets?”

“It’s been sold out for weeks. Damon and I have been looking forward to it since we heard. And I happen to have a couple of extra seats in my box.” She glances sideways where Sutton sits, watching us now with an unreadable expression. “Only two, but we know the owners of the theater. They’ll let us add another chair to the box.”

“Thank you so much,” I say, clapping. “This will be perfect.”

Christopher sounds droll. “I don’t suppose you’d accept money in exchange for the seats.”

She laughs. “Of course not. You’ll owe us a big favor, because if there’s one thing Damon Scott loves collecting more than information, it’s favors.”

“He has friends,” I tell Avery, on my bed and staring up at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. I took a cab back to L’Etoile, refusing to let either Sutton or Christopher bring me home.

“He’s probably had friends before.”

“I don’t know.” I remember how he looked bent over his textbook, forlorn and serious and determined. “He may have given his textbooks names and had whole conversations with them.”

“You just never lived in the same city as him,” she says.

“Did you know about this Thieves Club? That’s what they call themselves, Sutton and Christopher and Hugo. And this man whose name is Blue, like the color.”

“Because they steal jewels from the bank?”

“That’s what I asked!” This is why talking to Avery grounds me. She understands me like no one else. Besides she asked for the scoop, which is only fair since she gave me the tip about going to the Den. “Apparently it’s because every dollar they earn is one taken from someone else and money is finite or something.”

“Hmm,” she says. “So he has friends and you met them. Does that mean he’s human now, instead of a big symbolic version of your dad you can hate?”

“Don’t psychoanalyze me,” I say in a singsong voice. “Two can play at that game and you sold your virginity in a public auction, so you’re always going to be weirder.”