“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“He gave me his penthouse.”
“For real?” Nate downs his whiskey. “Justin didn’t give me shit when he got married.”
That might be true, but Nate doesn’t really care. He has more money than he can spend in a lifetime. And if he ever did somehow need more, his brother would write him a check, no questions asked.
“He needs somebody to keep the white baby grand safe.”
“What white baby grand?”
“His wife’s old practice piano. He’s buying her a concert grand for their first anniversary.”
He snorts in amusement. “So you scored a penthouse in exchange for piano-sitting?”
“Yup.” I search the dance floor below. It’s been long enough that Skittles should be down there by now. But it’s impossible to tell. Too damn many people. “I’m going dancing.”
Nate looks at me like I just told him I want to roll around in a pile of dogshit. “Dancing? Now?” He knows that when I’m in a crappy mood due to my family, I prefer to drink and brood.
“Yup.” I stand and lean over the rail, scanning the crowd for red cheeriness. “I might get lucky and find the love of my life.”
Nate laughs until he nearly chokes.
Chapter Three
Pascal
Man, this line’s sooo long. How much longer are we going to have to wait? Or should I come up with something else to do to celebrate?
Except if I do, Curie’s going to roll her eyes at me…affectionately, of course, but, still, an eye-roll is an eye-roll.
According to her, Z has the best music, the best drinks and, most importantly, the best crowd. Super-famous people come here. I’ve seen pictures of models, actors and everyone in between at this club. Apparently this is the place to be if you want to be cool and have fun. And since my sister is exactly that—cool and fun—she’s been here many times.
I, on the other hand, have never been here before, which is sad considering I’m an L.A. native. But I’ve been a busy girl. Majoring in math sucked up a lot of my free time. And I went to college in Chicago, so technically I haven’t been here the whole time.
And that’s the only reason I haven’t come to this club, not because I’m a geek.
Keep lying to yourself, Pascal. You know what you really are.
Ha, whatever. I’m not going to let the annoying voice in my head ruin my evening. Actually my whole week. It’s been fantastic, and—
“Hey.” A gentle tap on my shoulder.
I blink up at a guy who’s built like the Mountain from Game of Thrones. And he looks just as scary, minus the armor. “Hi…?” I say, unsure what he wants.
“You can come in through the VIP entrance.”
Wait, what? The VIP entrance? It doesn’t compute. “Who are you?”
“The large hired help.” He smiles, which only makes him more terrifying.
Right. Must be a bouncer. But… “Me?” I place a hand over my chest. “VIP?”
“Yup.”
“Oh my God. You know I’m not anybody famous, right?” As soon as I say it, I almost smack my cheeks. Why am I measuring teeth on a gift horse?
His steely gaze sweeps over me. “Yeah, I know.”