Page 112 of Past Due

“You didn’t,” he said with a wave of his hand. “For what it’s worth, I do know about George Sand. I know she liked to wear men’s clothing, and she had a long relationship with Chopin. Virginia Woolf mentioned George Sand and George Eliot and the Bronte sisters, about how they used men’s names to get published and be taken seriously. I don’t know about Daniel Stern, but I’m sure Marley can point me in the right direction.”

Logan grinned. “I knew I would like you.”

“You read Virginia Woolf?” Nicole demanded insolently. “A whole book? Or just the Wikipedia article?”

“What is your problem?” Marley asked, her voice strained. “Why are you being so rude to him?”

“Are you serious?” Nicole slammed down her glass, and he was stunned it didn’t break. “You married a man who exploits women for money. You call yourself a feminist. You marched and handed out flyers and raised money for women’s causes, and now you’re married to someone who exploits them? You’re living in this ridiculous bachelor’s palace that he bought off the backs and knees of those whores? You’re a fucking hypocrite, Marley!”

Aston was off her stool in a flash. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me!” Nicole snapped. “Not like you’re much better! Letting that lowlife Chop Shop Chad knock you up!”

“I’m about to knock you out!” Aston balled up her fist and took a menacing step toward Nicole.

“Honey, no!” Abby grabbed Aston’s arm, holding her back and urging her to stay calm.

“Look at you! Acting like the trash you’re shacked up with!”

“Nicole!” Hannah shouted her name. “Shut up!”

“No,” Besian interjected calmly. “Let her speak. I want to hear it all.”

Nicole shook her head. “That’s it. I’m done.”

“You sure?”

“Yep,” she said, aggressively popping the “p” at the end of the word.

“Good,” Besian replied. “I don’t care if you’re drunk. You will not stand in Marley’s home and speak to her that way. Get your shit, and get the fuck out.”

“Or what?” Nicole asked like a brat. “You’ll have your mafia friends beat me up?”

“Please,” he said with a derisive snort. “As if my knee-breakers have anything on Marissa.”

Nicole froze. “What?”

“Oh, didn’t you know?” he asked, delighting in the way she looked suddenly scared. “The real estate firm you work for? The one you were bragging about when you met me earlier tonight? Marissa’s firm? I gave her a third of the money to start it.”

“What?” Nicole squeaked.

“You see, Marissa, your boss, was one of the ‘whores’ I ‘exploited’ at my clubs,” he explained, using her words against her. “She danced for almost six years at my clubs. She used the money to go to college and then to get her realtor’s license. She used her time in the VIP rooms to network her regulars and get what she wanted out of them. Tax advice from a CPA. Learned about setting up her LLC from a lawyer. Got some small business loan advice from a banker. Got first dibs on showing the best new apartments and houses by dancing for builders and contractors.”

Nicole looked ready to pass out as he took a single step toward her. “Please,” she begged. “I didn’t mean—”

“Spare me,” he said sharply. “I’m sure Marissa will understand exactly what you meant.”

“Marley,” Nicole pleaded. “I’m sorry! Please! I’m so sorry!”

“I thought you were my friend,” Marley said softly, her lower lip wobbling in a way that made Besian’s heart ache. “You congratulated me! You said you were happy for me!”

“I was! I am!” Nicole swayed unsteadily on her feet. “I’m just drunk, okay? I’ve got a lot of shit going on at home, and I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Marley agreed. She stepped closer to Besian and lifted her shoulders. “You were asked to leave. You should go.”

“I’ll drive you,” Briana offered, looking ready to flee the tense situation. “Go get your purse and meet me by the door.”

Nicole didn’t argue. She slunk away from the kitchen, but Besian kept an eye on her, not trusting her to leave without making another scene.

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