Page 7 of Corrupted Pleasure
“You won’t know unless you try,” I said which resulted in an eye roll. “And you can’t fault him for wanting a better life for you.”
“If I want to do something,” Juliette said, with a slight bitterness in her voice, “I have to start it on my own. Or with you girls.”
I tilted my head pensively. It wasn’t a bad idea.
“You could dance?” Ivy suggested, her eyes closed and her head resting against the cushions. All four of us were seated on the floor, around the coffee table.
“When you say dance, do you mean as a stripper?” Wynter asked curiously. She had glanced at her watch several times in the past hour, which told me she’ll be trying to sneak out later.
Ivy, Juliette, and I snickered.
“I didn’t mean as a stripper, but now that you mention it. Yeah, why not? I saw a show where women can get good money out of it.” Ivy opened her eyes and rolled them, then immediately groaned. “My head hurts,” she complained.
“That’s not exactly a career,” I told Ivy. “And your head will feel better if you drink some water rather than alcohol.”
“What show was that?” Juliette asked curiously, as if she was seriously contemplating it. “About strippers or whatever.”
“Heidi Fleiss. A madame or something,” Ivy answered.
I scoffed. “She ran a prostitution ring. Not a strip club.”
Ivy just shrugged. “Whatever. She made tons of money.”
“Madam Juliette,” I played along. “It has a ring to it. And a jail cell with it. I can already picture you in orange. Or stripes.”
“It’s all about not getting caught. I'd look awful in orange stripes,” Ivy announced, like she knew tons about it.
Wynter glanced at the clock again. “If you’re going to make money illegally, it shouldn’t be that way. You’ll have to hope every customer can keep their mouths shut. Or make them sign a nondisclosure agreement and that seems like so much paperwork. You’re better off robbing a store.”
The three of us stared at her. Every so often, Wynter would say or do something that would shock us all. Of course, what she said made sense. It just sounded shocking coming from her. If Juliette or Ivy said it, I wouldn’t blink an eye. When Wynter uttered it, the three of us wondered if we knew her at all.
“Just give ballet a serious go,” Wynter added, shrugging her shoulders. “That should keep you busy.”
Juliette had been taking ballet classes for a while, but she never performed. She even went so far as to take it as one of her elective classes, just so she didn’t have to study another subject.
“I’m not that good at it,” Juliette muttered.
“You need to give yourself more credit,” Wynter protested.
“Agreed.” Both Ivy and I added in unison.
Juliette didn’t look convinced. “No, I’m not good like you, Wynter, and you only take ballet lessons to assist with your choreography and figure skating.” Wynter opened her mouth to protest, but Juliette raised her hand, palm facing her cousin. “Don’t.”
She tried to look authoritative, but she was leaning so far to the side that I thought she would fall over in a drunken stupor. I was tempted to yell, “Timber!” I did my best to hold back a snort.
Looking between the two, you wouldn’t have known they were cousins. They couldn’t have been more different in appearance as well as personality. Wynter, with long golden curls and light green eyes, always stood out. And when she smiled, she just captured everyone’s attention. Yet she was driven and had a strong dose of common sense.
Juliette, on the other hand, with her auburn hair that reflected red tones under the light with a dash of freckles over her light ivory skin and hazel eyes almost looked like a porcelain doll. She was beautiful in her own way. She may have had the drive, but it was usually toward mayhem, and I wasn’t sure she could spell common sense much less possess any.
“I’m not quite sure what to do either,” Ivy admitted. “Truthfully, it freaks me out to be a responsible adult.”
All three of us looked at Ivy. “Yes, Dad has money. But it comes with strings and the expectation to marry someone he approves of. And he doesn’t approve of anyone except another Irishman who has connections either to the Syndicate or the Irish mafia.”
“The Syndicate?” I asked, confused.
“Other criminal organizations.”
“But why would he make you do that?” It made no sense to me.
