Page 65 of Soulless Saint

Becca Hart was mine. She just didn’t know it yet.

I swept the empty streets, checking for any signs of life before I emptied the sack onto the concrete sidewalk, metal cans clattering against the ground.

My nostrils flared, the part of me that craved solitude wondering just what the fuck it was we were doing. Before I could stop myself though, I threw off my jacket and knelt on the sidewalk, ready to start my work.

“Oh my god, is that a Marni Trunk?”

I shoved past Toby, making a beeline for the rack of purses near the back of the thrift shop. My fingers brushed supple leather and I could have purred as I flipped up the front and peered inside the satin lined interior for the maker’s mark. It was a Marni Trunk.

“Cool your tush,” Toby whispered harshly. “If the shop attendants see you jumping up and down they’re going to take that bag from you faster than you can say ‘bye, bye, Marni.’ ”

I swallowed, schooling my face into a neutral expression as I carelessly dropped the bag into the shopping cart as if it was worth the twenty dollar price tag stickered on the back instead of the twelve hundred bucks I knew it was worth.

“Can I keep it?” I asked Toby, and he scoffed at me.

“If you must. Though I really don’t see why you need it since you refused to let me sell half your available purse inventory. The ROI on that baby could pay your rent this month.”

“But you’ve already sold enough of my wardrobe to pay my rent for the next six months,” I argued.

He pursed his lips. “Touché. Fine, keep it. It’s a good find. Nice to shop with someone who knows what to look for. Kate tries but she thinks Tommy Hilfiger is high fashion, so…”

I laughed a little at that, putting myself opposite him to flick through the racks of used clothing. I’d managed to convince Toby to get up early with me to go shopping for new clothes before our late morning shift at the cafe. But I hadn’t expected him to take me here.

To a fucking thrift shop.

For the first five minutes I couldn’t bring myself to touch a thing. But then I found a pair of Chanel heels and almost had an aneurysm at the price tag. Even without Dad’s black Amex card, I would still be able to afford to dress the way I wanted, even if it was in last season’s styles.

And the new and improved Rebecca Hart wasn’t against that.

It helped knowing I had enough money stashed away in my nightstand that I could keep ignoring Dad’s text messages, which were almost daily now.

You’re just as pigheaded as your mother was, he said. I received an invite to fashion week in Paris, it could be yours if you give up this juvenile obsession with defying me, he said. A job at a coffee shop? Really? You’re better than that, he said.

He wasn’t doing himself any favors to win my forgiveness for cutting me off to pursue my own future. I figured he would change his tune eventually, though. As soon as he realized I wasn’t going to come crawling back home and beg him to give me back my allowance and inheritance.

I didn’t want to lose my only remaining parent, but I wasn’t about to conform to his idea of what I should be. Not anymore.

I breathed in the cheap detergent and mothball scent of the thrift shop. This is what freedom smelled like and you know what? It wasn’t half bad. I could get used to it.

“So,” Toby said, drawing out the ‘o’ in that way he had that told me he was about to drag all the tea out of me. My back stiffened.

I’d been trying to come up with the best way to tell him about what happened between Kaleb and me, but every time I thought I had it figured out, it was like a physical block would form in my throat, stopping me.

I liked Toby. A lot. I didn’t want to risk alienating one of my only friends in this place. Especially not one I lived with and worked with.

“So?” I repeated, trying to sound nonchalant.

“There was an awful lot of tension between you and Kaleb last night. What was that about?”

“Um…” I pretended to be studiously checking all the seams on a short Fendi dress that was definitely at least three seasons old and too worn to merit buying. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Toby snatched the dress from me, shoving it back onto the rack with the others with a knowing look in his eyes. “You totally fucked, just admit it. Kaleb St. Vincent is a known man whore.”

I winced, and he gasped, clearly his accusation was meant to draw the truth out of me and that’s exactly what it did.

“Oh my god, you did fuck him!”

“Okay, you can’t be mad at me. Who got you a passenger seat ride last night?”

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