Page 1 of The Little Things

Chapter One

Rae

Well, I had really done it this time. I’d finally gone too far.

As the heavy metal door slid closed with a resounding clang, the iron bars breaking up the view from the other side of the jail cell I was standing in, I knew without a shadow of a doubt I’d screwed up big time.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, slapping my hands over my face as the enormity of my situation finally crashed down on me. “My parents are going to kill me!” I cried, the words muffled by my palms.

“First time in lockup, sweetie?”

I turned to the only other person in the cell with me. When I was first escorted in—my hands cuffed behind my back after having the world’s most unflattering mugshot taken of me—she’d been stretched out along the bench on the left side of the concrete and cinderblock room. At the time, I thought she’d been asleep and couldn’t fathom how that was even possible. I had so much adrenaline pumping through my system that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sleep for a week. Even if I had my king-sized pillow-top mattress and expensive-as-hell luxury bamboo sheets beneath me.

“Um.” I pulled my lips between my teeth and bit down hard, hoping to stop the quiver in my chin. It was bad enough I’d been arrested. I was not going to be that socialite who bawled like a freaking baby in the middle of her jail cell. I was made of tougher stuff than that, damn it.

Okay, I wasn’t. But fake it ’til you make it and all that jazz, right?

“Is it that obvious?” I asked once I managed to fight the tears back.

The woman sat up and spun around, resting her back against the cold gray wall and crossing one leg over the other. If I had to guess, I would have put her somewhere in her late thirties, maybe older, but it was hard to tell with all the makeup she had caked on her face and the thick black eyeliner and mascara. She’d obviously been in here for a while and looked content to stay until, well, I wasn’t sure how the hell we got out of a place like this. I’d never been arrested before!

“Oh yeah,” she said with the raspy laugh of someone who smoked at least two packs a day. “Obvious as hell you just got your cherry busted tonight, girly.” Eww. “If I were you, I’d wipe that deer in the headlights look off your pretty face real damn quick. It’s bad enough you’re in here sporting a dress that probably cost more than my rent, you don’t want to draw more attention to the fact that you’re a spoiled princess. Once this place starts filling up, they’ll eat your ass alive.”

I worked hard to do as she suggested, despite the fact that being called a spoiled princess caused that burn in the backs of my eyes to start up all over again. I wanted to argue, to tell this woman she didn’t know the first thing about me. But the truth was, she’d hit the nail on the head with painful accuracy.

I was a spoiled princess. The dress I was wearing was one I’d purchased straight from the designer after I saw it on the runway model during Paris Fashion Week. I hadn’t even bothered to ask the price before passing over my credit card. Well... my dad’s credit card. However, I did know how much the red-bottom heels on my feet cost, and my new cellie wasn’t too far off the mark. Rent in L.A. was astronomical, and so was the cost of these shoes.

Honestly, I felt like an asshole standing in the middle of the holding cell in designer duds, the hair I’d paid an ungodly amount of money to have professionally blown out earlier in the day now lying flat against my head, and the makeup that had been artfully applied by the makeup artist I used every morning smudged from crying. I was a fraud and the chick on the bench across from me knew that with just one look.

My expensive heels click-clacked against the hard concrete floor as I moved to the metal bench along the back wall and sat down, tugging at the hem of my minidress and crossing my legs tightly so I didn’t accidentally flash anyone that might walk by. This dress wasn’t exactly made to be sat in. It was more for showing off than anything. It had been designed to be seen in. Comfort and modesty hadn’t come into consideration at all.

I gripped the edge of the bench tight enough that the metal dug into my skin, trying to ignore the fact that there was a toilet... out in the open... less than five feet from where I was sitting. I made the mistake of looking at it and gagged before quickly facing forward once again.

“You look familiar.” My spine went stiff at my new roommate’s declaration. I had been hoping to get through this whole ordeal without being recognized, but it looked like that hope was in vain. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

I lowered my face and stared at my lap, trying to hide behind the curtain of my hair. “I don’t think so,” I mumbled.

“No, I do. I totally know you from somewhere. Where do I—?” I knew she’d placed me when she sucked in a gasp and snapped her fingers. “You’re one of those people who’s famous for no reason, right? Because you got a rich mommy and daddy. You were on that reality show where all those spoiled-ass rich kids had to live a week in the jungle or something.”

God, I hated that I’d agreed to do that show. It made us look like fools. I was just thankful the viewers didn’t know it was all bullshit, and that we spent each night in a private villa belonging to the tropical resort we were filming around while trying to trick the world into believing that we were roughing it the whole seven days.

“So what did you do to get yourself thrown in here, sweet cheeks?”

Shame flooded me, staining my cheeks an angry red I couldn’t possibly hide. “It’s, um, kind of a long story.”

She lifted her arms at her side and looked around sarcastically. “I think we both have time.”

“What are you in for?” I threw back, trying to take the attention off me.

She waved a hand down the front of herself like the answer was obvious. “What’s it look like? You think I’d wear something like this because it suits my complexion?”

Well, I hadn’t wanted to assume. Fashion was ever-changing, evolving. The torn fishnet stockings, pleather miniskirt, and neon pink tube top could have been her way of making a statement.

“I’m in for solicitation. I got busted hookin’.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug like it was nothing. “Wasn’t the first time, probably won’t be the last.”

“Hey, you have to make a living somehow, right?”

She didn’t hide her surprise at my response. If she expected me to judge her, she was going to be waiting a long time. I had a lot of opinions on prostitution, and most of them centered around the fact that our laws in regards to the oldest profession known to man were in serious need of an overhaul. Instead of punishing these women for doing what they felt they needed to do, whatever their reasons may be, it would have been better if laws were set in place to ensure their safety as they did it.

---