Page 71 of Brazen Mistakes

Clara takes the collection of items and hands it back to him, leaning in for a long kiss. “Put it all in his car. Not having his card when he goes to pay will be punishment enough.”

He groans but fills his pockets again and leaves the room. All I can think is that he’s going to use a thousand-dollar hairpin to break into this guy’s car until I remember he probably has tools secreted somewhere on him. Just like RJ doesn’t leave the house without the bug detector, and Trips has freaky amounts of cash stashed on his person.

When you need your tools, you’d better have them.

As my sketchbook is in the car, I guess I can’t really point any fingers.

Clara swings her gaze to Trips, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he shrinks. “What?” he asks.

“Just how expensive are these clothes you’ve decided I need? There’s a noticeable lack of price tags on things.”

“It’s a business perk. Your clothing allowance.”

“An allowance makes it sound like spare change. If a piece of jewelry costs thousands, I don’t think we should buy actual clothes here.”

Trips’ hands clench, and I’ve known him long enough to see when emotion is about to come out of him sideways. “Clara,” I say, cutting in, “You need to fit in with rich fucks. We’ve all done this, although to a lesser extent. Well, except RJ. For what it’s worth, whatever we end up buying here, it’llprobably last longer than you will want to wear it. I got my wool coat last fall at a place like this, and it still looks brand new. The same with my cashmere sweaters and the bespoke loafers Trips talked me into.”

“Why does RJ get a pass?”

“Sugar,” RJ answers for me, “I spend ninety-nine percent of my time in the van, and one hundred percent of my time away from the action.”

“But you need new clothes, so you’re next on the list,” I say, shuddering as I remember wrestling his polyester dress shirt into something canvas adjacent in Chicago.

Clara huffs, her arms across her chest, and I can’t help myself, pulling her into a hug, pressing a kiss to her head. “You’re going to have to get used to the nicer things in life, princess.”

“I want to earn them. Not just have them given to me.”

“You are earning them. And when you get to that party, you’ll find out exactly how. But first, you need to spend an exorbitant sum looking like you belong at the party.”

The tension in her makes me wish I could do more to take some of the weight off her slight shoulders. But I can’t fix any of the shit that’s broken right now. I can hold her. I can coax her into eating regular meals. I can offer her comfort and a safe place.

But as much as I want to, I can’t march into Trips’ house at her side.

Based on the tension radiating off him, he wishes he didn’t have to bring her at all.

I don’t know everything that happened to Trips as a kid. He hasn’t shared much with us, just enough for us to know not tocross his dad. But he asked us to be scarce yesterday when he briefed Clara on his family and based on the concern Clara’s been wearing like so many rubber bands snapped around her body, he told her a whole lot more than he’s ever shared with us.

And while I’m glad he’s letting her in, I wish he hadn’t put another weight on her, even if she needed to know what she was walking into.

Watching them dance earlier, none of us could deny that there’s something there between the two of them. We’d be blind idiots to not see it. But theybothheld back. Which was new. And it made my chest ache.

The sketch I was working on in the car was a swirl of emotions more than images, Trips and Clara both fading into the mess from opposite edges of the paper. Apart, but wanting to find a path through the fog to each other.

There was no path. And when I tried to add one, every line just added to the swirl of chaos between them.

Clara leans into RJ, and Trips turns his back to us, sliding one wrong dress, then the next along the rack as the silence grows.

I can’t fix this for them. Not without knowing what Trips knows, without knowing what he shared with Clara. All that’s left is fear, longing, and one girl trying, yet again, to stand up straight while everything firm under her feet sinks, breaks, and disappears into an unknowable black hole.

Chapter 27

Clara

Summer is smaller than I remember. Perhaps she was wearing absurdly tall heels at that poker night where I watched her almost flirting with Walker.

Or maybe her presence was so bold I didn’t notice that she was short enough for me to see the top of her blond head. She came in, heard what Trips was going for, made me strip to my underwear and spin before vanishing into the shop. She returned with piles of dresses spread between two associates. Then I got to go through my second round of trying on clothes that weigh more than my snow boots.

No one ever told me rich-people clothes require muscles.

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