Survival of the Richest (The Trust Fund Duet 1)

“There’s a domino effect with getting construction and our contracts with retailers.”

“And we would be in a stronger bargaining position when the construction crew inevitably tells me it’ll take longer. Hard to make the point we’re in a hurry if we’re slow as mud.”

Christopher nods. “So we’re agreed.”

I’m not sure what they’ve agreed to, except that having their construction permit denied is a bad thing for many reasons. I could have told them that. Then they look at me, and I realize that I’m going to play some part in getting this resolved. That’s only fair considering it’s the reason why I’m here, but I’m going to need more than clipped words.

“Mrs. Rosemont was really mad, you guys.”

Christopher gives me a half smile. “I’ll go to city hall. I have a few contacts there I’ve been working. A few angles that might help this go through.”

“Bribes?” Sutton asks.

“It looks like we’ll need them. Which means we don’t have money for those thousands of book restorations and moving the damned wall. Corruption doesn’t come cheap.”

“Wait.” But I’ve already lost control of the situation. I lost it last night when the first punch was thrown. Or maybe I was foolish to think I could control men like this.

This was also supposed to be the ticket to my mother getting the experimental treatment. That money will go to rich men instead, making them richer. Which strikes me as completely ordinary, all of a sudden. That’s how things have always worked in our lives.

Christopher looks at me, seeing right through all my worry. His eyes soften a fraction. “You did the work we asked you to, better than I could have predicted. I’m the one who fucked things up. Your mother isn’t going to have to pay for that. We’ll pay for the butterfly garden.”

He’s probably right, being a bastion of ethics and correctness. It still feels like a hollow victory. I don’t want to take money they need for construction. The only thing I ever wanted was to spend the money I already had. I never should have agreed to stay here.

Christopher’s forehead furrows. He doesn’t say anything, though. Nothing to reassure me. And he certainly doesn’t offer to let me use the trust fund.

“I’ll call Victor and the construction guys,” Sutton says. “Try to work out some kind of contract negotiations so they don’t walk away and start another job.”

Christopher nods and leaves without a backward glance. I watch the back of his head as he goes, those broad shoulders, the determined way he leaves, like a man going to war.

Sutton doesn’t look at me either as he sets up a meeting time on his phone.

For two men who couldn’t pay enough attention to me last night, they sure are avoiding me in the morning. It doesn’t do nice things for a girl’s self-esteem.

“Our fault,” Sutton says, sensing my guilt.

They fought over me. Does that make it their fault? Or mine? We were so close to having the society’s approval. “The table is beautiful,” I tell him, touching the smooth edge of it with my forefinger.

His blue gaze follows my touch. “Yes.”

It’s not beautiful like Medusa with her blue-green lips and serpent hair. She tried so damn hard to be understood. Wanted that more than anything, but the men she spoke to kept turning to stone.

The table is different. It doesn’t need to say anything. It just is. Like the earth and the sun and all the vibrant things in between.

“I just keep thinking… why didn’t I see this when I came here the first time? How beautiful the table is and that you must have made it yourself.”

“You didn’t know me then.”

The founder of L’Etoile was a woman who called herself French royalty, but rumor is that she ran a brothel in Paris. Maybe both of those stories are true.

It makes me wonder if every old building has some dark sexual secrets, irreverent to the beauty of the place. Maybe there was a deviant sex club that met in the library after hours. I could look through those shelves for months, for years, and not uncover every secret the building holds.

I won’t be here long enough to find out.

Christopher managed to push through the permits with bribes and threats and who knows what else. The books are going to be dragged to the landfill, the carved wall torn down like plaster.

I’ll be on a plane out of Tanglewood before it happens, because I can’t stand to watch that kind of beauty destroyed. Not like I’m doing them any good here anyway. I may as well go back home, where I can at least make sure Mom is eating proper food instead of whatever berries-and-twigs diet her herbalist has come up with.

Maybe it will be as useful as the experimental treatment I didn’t get her into.