Page 117 of Poor Little Rich Girl

It occurs to me that I know someone with the exact skills I need. I’ve already seen the devastating impact of their talents, and I know they can’t resist a mystery. I just have to—

My phone rings.

What the fuck? I stare at it as it vibrates across the bedside table. The piercing wail of the ringtone reverberates in my silent room. Gizmo pokes her head from beneath the blankets to glare at the offending device.

Brrrrriiiiing. Brrrrriiiiing.

Why the fuck is calling me at 3:47AM?

Noah’s name flashes on the screen. A dark feeling hits my gut. Is he okay? Has something happened?

I grab the phone and moan into the receiver. “This better be fucking important.”

“It is. Can you meet me at school in five minutes? I need to practice the hurdles.”

Noah fucking Marlowe.

We have our first winter indoor meet next month, and it’s an important one. College recruiters will be there, and as the team captain, it’s my job to make sure we shine. But I can barely muster a single fuck to give about track. It used to be that when I looked up from the starting blocks, I stared into my future – a future far away from my family and fucking Emerald Beach – where I got to live life based on my own values and beliefs. Track was how I would escape my family’s obsession with profiting from the grief of others. Now, when I stare down the field, all I see is Claudia August, the ghost of the girl I love.

The last thing I want to do is run through more drills with Noah, especially since he doesn’t know how dangerously close I am to kicking him off the team. But something in his voice catches me – a hint of emotion, of desperation. This is Noah Marlowe reaching out, and I’d be a shitty friend if I didn’t respond. Even if I do hate his guts right now.

I drag myself out of bed, stuff my uniform and calculus textbook into my gym bag, and pad through the house. I can hear Maria snoring from her room off the back of the kitchen. Mom isn’t awake, but even if she was I doubt she’d care where I was going.

My hand turns on the doorknob when a voice says, “Hold on a minute, son.”

The deep voice stabs the darkness. My heart hammers in my chest as I look over my shoulder. Nero steps out of the shadows.

What’s he doing skulking around the house at 4AM?

“Hi.” I nod at him, hoping that I’m not betraying the trembling in my arm. “I’m just on my way to track practice, so I can’t stop to chat.”

“This is early to be heading to school.” He looks faintly amused, as if we’ve both been caught sneaking snacks from the fridge. As he glides across the floor toward me, I see that he’s dressed in his three-piece pinstripe suit, his shoes perfectly shined. He can’t have got dressed just to come down and speak to me, so I wonder where he’s planning to go at this early hour.

“We have our first meet soon, and college recruiters will be there. Every minute of extra practice matters.” Especially now that Dad’s civil suits will run our coffers dry and I’ll have to pay my way through college.

“You’re a very bright boy, aren’t you, Elias?” It’s not really a question. Men like Nero don’t expect an answer. He thrusts his hands in the pockets of his impeccable suit, and I notice a gold watch around his wrist and a small coin hanging from a gold chain around his neck. “I wondered if you might be interested in a job with me after you graduate. I know you’re planning for college, but a year or two in the real world might help you decide on your next step.”

He sounds so sincere, my hackles immediately go up. Dad would say this guy is slicker than owl shit. “That’s nice of you to offer, but I don’t think so.”

“If you change your mind…” Nero withdraws his hand from his pocket and places a heavy business card in my cold fingers. “I know life’s tough on you right now. My father spent time in prison, too. But like it or not, I’m going to be sticking around, and I’d like to think we can be friends.”

My fingers close around his business card. I have to admit, I’m intrigued. Nero says his father is a felon, and yet he’s obviously a successful guy. No one else I know has dealt with what I’ve been though – seeing Walter Hart led away in chains, having to talk to him through a glass wall in that piss-soaked room, knowing that when people look at me, they don’t see me – only my father’s crimes.

There are plenty of criminals among the elite in Emerald Beach, but my father was the only one stupid enough to get caught. Despite myself, I slip the card into the pocket of my gym bag. “What kind of work are you talking about?”

“Pretty menial stuff, if I’m honest. All the things my terrible assistant struggles with – managing a schedule, keeping appointments, keeping tabs on my various enterprises. But it would give you a behind-the-scenes look into the industry, maybe make some connections that can help you when you decide on your career.”

“Any reality TV shows about rockstar veterinarians?” I raise an eyebrow.

Nero tosses his head back and laughs deep from his belly. I find myself cracking a smile, too. The guy still makes me uneasy, but… “Exactly, son. You never know when the perfect opportunity is just around the corner. Life isn’t about what you know – it’s who you know. A bright boy like you can go a long way if you choose the right friends. But side with the wrong crowd, well…” Nero makes a slicing motion across his throat. He laughs again, his face contorting in the low light of the dimmed chandelier.

As I watch Nero climb into his car and take off into the darkness, I can’t help but feel I’d just been given a warning.

“Where’s your gear?” I jog up to Noah. He’s sitting on the bleachers, swinging his legs, with a serious Noah expression on his face. It’s freezing out – a crisp breeze blows in off the ocean only half a mile down the road. I think about Gizmo snuggled under the covers back home, and wish I was with her. And then I remember the sounds from my mother’s room down the hall and Nero giving me his ‘man of the house chat’ and I amend my wish.

Noah shrugs. “I thought we could have a little talk.”

“Fuck off.” I throw my gym bag on the ground with as much force as I can. My shoes bounce out and scatter across the grass. “I came because I thought you wanted help with track. If that’s not the case, I’m going back to bed—”

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