Cruel Money (Cruel 1)

“I was hoping that you’d have advice. You’re the one who deals with guys and people.”

“My advice is to sleep with him. But since you’re not listening to me—” Another voice came through the speaker. “Hold on a second, Nat. There’s someone at the gallery.”

“No problem.”

Amy ran an art gallery on King Street in downtown Charleston. It had started out with a bang. Since she had an in with the art community, she’d started it straight out of college with her shiny art history degree in hand. Grimke University had even featured her as an esteemed alumnus.

I finished the bottle of water while I waited for Amy to return to our call. Not that I was certain she was going to give me any real advice about what to do about Penn and his friends. I still thought the best answer would be to just never see them again.

I was there to watch the place. The mayor was doing some remodeling and upkeep before her annual party in November, and she needed someone to be here to deal with the repairmen and interior decorators who would be floating in and out. I had only a vague idea of what was actually going to be happening, but I wasn’t doing any of the work, just orchestrating it. I had a list in my email somewhere of what was going to start on Monday. Otherwise, I was free to enjoy the Hamptons.

The door clicked open, drawing me away from my thoughts, and my eyes bulged when Penn walked into the living room. I hung up the phone and jumped to my feet. I’d call Amy back later.

“You’re still here,” I blurted out.

“I am,” Penn said.

“I thought you might have left already.”

He arched an eyebrow, and my gaze traveled down his fit body. I’d never seen him in anything other than a suit and naked. Today, he was dressed comfortably in a sky-blue polo and khaki pants with boat shoes. He’d always lived in a suit in my mind. It was strange to see him like this. Though…he still looked fucking hot. Damn him.

“We didn’t leave. Just had brunch. I would have woken you, but I figured you needed the sleep after last night.”

I ran an absentminded hand through my tangled hair. “I guess.”

In that moment, Katherine bounded through the front door. “Morning, Natalie,” she said with a smile. “We brought you a pastry from the restaurant. Eat up and then get changed. We have plans.” Katherine shoved a white bag into my hand.

“Thanks,” I said automatically. I was surprised they’d thought of me at all. Not that I was hungry. I still felt a little queasy from all the alcohol. I wanted plain toast and a Gatorade.

“Of course. Don’t forget your suit. You’ll need it.”

Katherine traipsed off, as if she hadn’t had any alcohol at all last night. Lark and Rowe followed behind her, nodding in my direction. Then, Lewis appeared in the doorway in a similar outfit to Penn’s. He quirked a smile at me.

“Hey, Natalie. Are you feeling better?” Lewis asked, sidling up to me.

“Uh, not really.”

Penn was glaring at Lewis, as if his presence next to me irritated him. It was almost humorous. If I didn’t feel so out of my depth with them all.

“That’s too bad. Maybe I can whip you up some breakfast.”

“You cook?” I asked. That wasn’t something I had expected.

“I do. Grew up cooking with my mom.”

“Well, you don’t have to do that. I can make my own food.”

“Don’t even worry about it.” Lewis started for the kitchen. “Just let me know if you have any food allergies.”

I shook my head in confusion. What was happening here? I’d thought last night was some kind of weird dream. Penn’s friends had hung out with me just to annoy him, but now, they were making it seem like…I was almost one of them. Like I belonged.

And then there was Penn.

He didn’t casually stand around with me like Lewis had. He stood with his hands in his pockets and blue eyes staring intently into my own.

“What?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“I want to apologize,” he got out quickly.

“You…want to apologize?”

“I think we got off on the wrong foot last night. I was surprised by your appearance and had no right talking to you the way that I did.”

I eyed him suspiciously. This was a one-eighty from how he’d acted the night before, and he hadn’t been drunk.

“Okay.”

“Just okay?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know what you want me to say. We didn’t get off on the wrong foot because you were rude last night. It’s because of what you did when we met in Paris.”

“That was so long ago.”

“And that means you’ve changed?”

“How would you even know if I had?” he asked, stepping closer to me.

There was fire in his eyes that turned me on as much as it infuriated me.