Sun-kissed (The Au Pairs 3)

"All right," Eliza grunted.

"And what is that smell?"

Eliza froze, pressing her armpits next to her torso.

"Ew! Who ordered Chinese food?" Paige demanded, holding up the half-empty container of beef chow fun that Eliza had been munching from.

"Um, we all did?" Eliza reminded. The whole staff had sent for takeout since it was hours after dinner and they were all starving. She had been ravenously devouring the noodles when Paige had interrupted her meal.

"Well, get it out of here. If Sydney comes back and finds his clothes smelling like Chinatown, he is going to have a fucking meltdown."

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Eliza shoved in a few more mouthfuls of the tangy dish before reluctantly tossing it in the trash chute across the hall from the office. She walked back into Sydney Minx's ten-thousand-square-foot loft. It was on the third floor of a former factory building in SoHo. The designer had bought it in the seventies when the building had still been an art collective. Sydney had sworn he would never leave the neighborhood but once business had taken off had quickly repaired to a swanky Upper East Side address, and the loft had been turned into the headquarters for his line.

Just the week before, Eliza had been beside herself when she'd learned her mother had talked Sydney Minx into hiring her as an intern. She'd even skipped her own high school graduation to be here tonight. Not that it mattered--after a year at Spence in New York and two years at Herbert Hoover High in Buffalo, she'd spent her last year of high school at boarding school, where she'd essentially phoned in her senior year, breezing through a host of AP classes. Wear a black gown and a cardboard hat just to receive a piece of paper? Nuh-uh. She'd asked the school to mail it to her instead. Besides, everyone knew a graduation cap made your hair flat.

The Thompsons were back on top, and for Eliza, all was right in the world. The scandal that had bankrupted her parents and doomed them to social oblivion (aka Buffalo) was ancient history. With the help of some well-connected friends, her father had made some key ground-floor investments in an abandoned warehouse property on the west side of Manhattan, which was now

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being developed into the hottest real estate in the city. Voila: the Thompsons were back in business. After repurchasing their old Park Avenue co-op and re-upping their Knicker bocker Club memberships, their reputation had been reinstated along with their credit cards.

It looked like all of Eliza's dreams were finally coming true-- she'd been accepted early to Princeton, her dream college--but then, that never had been in doubt, what with her perfect SAT score and legacy-kid status. Plus, this summer she wasn't going to be taking care of the Perry kids, nor was she going to have to prostrate herself working at a nightclub catering to bratty celebrities. The internship with Sydney Minx was icing on the cake-- allowing her to make some industry contacts (she could use a few good discounts to stretch her shopping dollars--she'd heard the sample sales were amazing!) and have a fun way to pass the time. Not that the job was any fun at the moment, but it could be, if only they would let her do something more interesting than paint fabric, steam clothes, and pack boxes.

No matter; tomorrow she would be in the Hamptons with Jeremy and her friends--Mara was supposed to be there by now, and Jacqui would be flying in with the Perrys soon enough. The three of them hadn't been together since spring break, when they'd managed to meet up for a few sun-soaked days in Cabo San Lucas. She couldn't wait to tell them all about her new gig. Of course, stapling the fashion show programs wouldn't sound too glamorous, so she probably wouldn't describe it in any detail.

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She passed a full-length mirror and quickly checked her reflection. Horror of horrors--there were saddlebags under her eyes from lack of sleep, and her usually lustrous blond hair fell flat against her shoulders. Her blue eyes were red-rimmed and watery. But somehow, even while looking her absolute worst, Eliza was still the best-looking girl in the room. She'd tied her loose white oxford shirt around her waist in lieu of buttoning it, displaying a sliver of flat, tanned stomach above her baggy sweats. And even though she was wearing a comfy pair of slides, they sported a discreet Chanel logo on each side. She gath

ered up her hair in a loose but elegant bun, securing it with a pair of clean chopsticks.

Jeremy liked it when she put her hair up, she thought fondly. He was already in Montauk and couldn't wait for her to arrive. She had seen him just a few weeks ago at his college graduation in Binghamton, and she'd been so proud of him. Jeremy was one of the few guys who made wearing that stupid cardboard hat look sexy--his dark curls peeked out from under the cloth cap.

Dating long distance sucked, but they'd made it work, and they were going to celebrate their one-year anniversary soon. Not that it even felt like a year--whenever they were together, it was like they'd just met, and honestly, she felt like she was more in love with him than ever. She couldn't wait to see him. Jeremy was the only guy she'd ever met who saw the "real" her, who loved her because she sometimes snorted milk out of her nose when she laughed. The only guy she ever felt comfortable enough with to drop the whole princess-diva act. So many guys just expected her

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to be this perfectly poised mannequin. Jeremy told her he thought she was beautiful when she had a pimple on her chin.

They were planning to spend the night together as soon as she arrived in town--and Eliza knew, even if Jeremy didn't, that for the first time, it would mean truly spending the night together-- no making out PG-13 style, the way they had been. After a year of seriously dating, she was ready to hand over her V card and make him her first. He was her one true love and had waited for so long for her to feel comfortable doing it. She was eighteen-- for her, it was time. She took a deep breath and looked at herself in the mirror again.

If all went according to plan, by tomorrow evening, she would no longer be a virgin. She wondered if she would look different. Older? More mature? More experienced? And would anyone be able to tell? She'd find out soon enough.

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on the upper east side, jacqui finds that packing for the hamptons doesn't

help a hangover

THE DOORBELL RANG, AND THE SOUND OF BELL CHIMES

reverberated loudly in the studio, but Jacqui Velasco ignored it. She was hurriedly throwing clothes, shoes, and straw tote bags into two open suitcases in the bedroom. It was just half an hour since she'd walked onto the stage with the rest of the St. Grace Academy class to collect her diploma, and she was still wearing the pretty floral Blumarine dress and round-toe Gucci heels she'd chosen for the event.

Her grandmother had already left for the airport to catch her flight back to Sao Paulo. It had been great to see her avo, who had been positively bursting with pride in her lace mantilla. After all, Jacqui had graduated with a solid B-plus average and honors in Spanish (being fluent in Portuguese certainly helped). She'd kissed her grandmother good-bye outside the auditorium and had scrambled to return home to pack for the Hamptons as soon

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