Page 298 of Poor Little Rich Girl

But if I stay, what happened in that hotel room will become my life. I won’t be able to help it. And I don’t think I can hold my father’s memory in my punctured heart while turning into the monster from one of his films—

My whole body goes rigid.

No.

He can’t be here.

He can’t.

But he is. My body recognizes him before he even turns toward us. I stagger away, my back slamming into the elevator, my veins sparking with adrenaline as I fight my instinct to run.

He’s here.

Alec LeMarque.

Claudia

That bastard. That fucking bastard.

Beside me, George is as white as a sheet. She’s never told me what Alec did to her, and she doesn’t have to. We’ve been friends long enough that I can read between the fucking lines, and it doesn’t take a best friend to see that Alec LeMarque messed her up.

And for that, he will die.

I slam my fist in the elevator buttons, closing the doors behind us and sending us back up to the private rooms. George’s eyes cloud over. Her nails dig into my arm, biting my skin.

“George?” She doesn’t register my voice. I shake her arm, try again. “George, listen to me. I know what he did to you. I know. I thought we dealt with Alec LeMarque, but he’s like a fucking whack-a-mole. We knock that fucker down and he keeps popping up again. Now he’s here, and I can’t allow that to stand. So let’s play this out. We could go to the police. That’s a possibility. We could tell our stories. You could submit yourself for whatever evidence they require, open your entire personal life up for scrutiny. His lawyers will paint you as the weird loner chick wanting to get some leverage from the up-and-coming actor, probably trying to promote your podcast. ‘Hasn’t Alec been through enough without these baseless allegations?’ they’ll say. Nod if I’m right.”

George nods. Her eyes dart to the doors, and a tremor shakes her whole body.

“So that’s not an option. You went to the authorities when you found out about your dad’s remains, but they didn’t want to know, so you got justice for yourself. But you’re not on your own anymore. We’re ride or die, remember? So, my friend, that fucker is out there laughing and eating profiteroles like everything is right with the world. He hasn’t learned a thing, and I won’t abide that. Not for another minute. So what I want to know is, do you want justice? The kind of justice only Claudia August can deal out?”

The doors open onto the private rooms. Daphne’s screams echo along the hall, mingling with the other moans and grunts. The boys are busy. We girls can handle this for now. I shove my foot into the elevator door, blocking it from moving. When George looks back at me, her eyes harden.

“Make sure he never hurts anyone again.”

“There’s my George.” I kiss her forehead. I let my foot slide out of the door, and I punch in the floor for the bar. The elevator jerks back down. “I’m going to ask you to do something, and it’s going to completely suck. It’s the worst thing I’ll ever ask you to do, and I’m so sorry. But I need you to go back into the party and get Alec LeMarque alone.”

George bites her lip as the doors open. “Why?”

“Because if I go over there, he’s going to make a scene. He won’t come with me willingly. But you…”

“He won’t believe me, either,” she says. “Not after Antony’s PE class.”

“He will if you tell him you were jealous of the attention he gave me.” I grab her shoulders. “I know it’s fucking disgusting. But can you dig down deep and find the words to convince him to follow you into the backstage bathroom? I’ll do the rest.”

She shakes her head. Tears pool at the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry, Claws. I wish I could, but I can’t face him…”

“For fuck’s sake, I’ll do it,” another familiar voice says. “What am I doing?”

I whirl around to see Yara, standing in the hallway wearing a server’s uniform, a tray of profiteroles perched on her arm.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you in action, and I thought you could do with an extra pair of eyes, so I got myself hired by the catering company,” Yara says, like it’s obvious. She holds the platter out to George, who’s nervously stuffing profiteroles into her mouth. “So tell me what I’m doing.”

“Seducing a bastard rapist scumbag so he follows you into the backstage bathroom.”

“To be honest, I’m a little offended you didn’t think to ask me in the first place.” Yara yanks George into the bathroom. “I’ll need to borrow your dress.”

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