Page 2

“I appreciate it.” Finally, Helena could breathe. They had turned onto the main road weaving through one of the richest parts of the county. I thought this place was so exotic when I first moved here. For a fresh high school grad from the Pacific Northwest, it was exotic. Much like the bayou of Louisiana or the arid deserts of Nevada were exotic. Anything was better than where she was from. That place brought nothing but disappointment.

In herself. In life.

Southern California was supposed to free her from that. It was supposed to offer her an outlet as she took a gap year between high school and college. Her acceptance to school was on hold, but her life wasn’t. She had things to do. Oats to sow. Lots of learning, growing, and taking life by the horns.

Then she met Irene, who introduced her to Josh. Together, they promised her a jet-setting world of tropical vacations, steamy nights at the world’s most exclusive parties, and whatever she wanted. Whatever she wanted, both in and out of the bedroom. And Helena’s insatiable appetite was ready to take advantage of them.

She could dip, though. That was almost easier than meeting them in Los Angeles’s hottest nightclub.

“Whatever you say.” The cabbie shook his head as he turned his attention to the road. Helena felt a little sorry for him.

She only wished they butted out of her unconventional life.

“I’ll be fine,” she coolly insisted, as if that made it any more believable. “It’s not the first time I’ve left.”

This time, though, she meant it. She was still young, and there was much of the world to see – and many more rich people to take advantage of while she had the face and the body to do so.

Chapter 1

These kinds of nights had long lost their luster. Or maybe that was Delia Benoist’s way of admitting that turning thirty did fuckall for her.

Granted, she had already turned thirty. Exactly a month ago, if she hadn’t completely lost track of time.

“Another round?” Her friend, Tiffani Jenkins-Schooner, shook an empty martini glass in Delia’s face. “Come on. You’re bumming out. Could you like, smile? Maybe flirt with the waitress when she comes back? She’s been checking you out all night. Practically begging you to undress her with your lecherous eyes.”

Did she mean those same eyes rolling in Delia’s head? “I can’t say I’ve noticed the waitress. I haven’t been in the mood to notice anyone.”

“Ugh, tell me about it. You’ve been a sourpuss ever since your sister got married. You’re not jealous of her, right? Because she married a guy. I don’t have to tell you what a mistake that was, and I’m bi.”

“Lemon has nothing to do with it.” That’s what she called her older sister Leslie “Lemon” Benoist. Or maybe Delia should change that thought to Leslie Benoist-Hess, because she had since hitched herself to the heir of Hess Real Estate Holdings, one of the biggest residential landlords in the state. Delia and her sister already came from money. Technically, the Benoists were richer than the Hess’s, but she also knew that Hess was about to expand into New York and Pennsylvania. It was only a matter of time before Lemon lorded her new private jet and weekends in the Hamptons over her sister, who was far from the favored child in the family. “I’m in a funk, you know? There. I said it.”

Tiffani nodded. “Oh, it’s as clear as my nail polish. Your sister getting married, your parents fighting again, your business…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a stinking hot mess.” Delia stared at her empty martini glass and almost convinced herself to get a third drink. No, remember what your therapist said? You’re starting to use alcohol as a coping mechanism. Did she want to become like her aunt, the number one donor of Serenity Hills Rehab? Delia had visited her there more than in her aunt’s own home. That shit ran in the blood. The older Delia got – because she was thirty, after all – the more she had to keep that in mind. She couldn’t party like she used to. “Thanks for the reminder. Especially the part about my career potentially going on hold.”

Like the Hess’s, the Benoists made most of their money from real estate, and that was where Delia had plied her trade as well. Because while she could have rested on her heiress laurels like Lemon, she preferred to keep busy. Her father had pulled some strings to allow a nepo baby like her to start at a high-salary position in The Boyle Group, which was currently in the news for laying off twenty percent of their workforce. We only have four hundred employees across the country. Many of them worked from home those days, but Delia still felt the impact whenever she walked into the downtown office. Which was also downsizing to “accommodate for the post-pandemic times.” Gone was Delia’s corner office overlooking the river that cut through one of the richest cities in New England. We may not be in the public consciousness, but money used to flow through here like that river. The Thomas-Cole building where The Boyle Group had originally been headquartered had raised their rent, and that was it. Even the mighty Boyles couldn’t afford it anymore.

They now had a three-story building all to themselves along the river. The view was okay, but there was little point in going into the office outside of meetings anymore. Delia mostly kept to her home office that she had upgraded during the pandemic.

There was the waitress, arriving with a come-hither look in her eye. Delia knew better than to pay much more than passing interest in the staff at The Dark Hour, the city’s biggest kinky playground for rich people like her. They’re supposed to be off limits, on pain of having my membership revoked. Except that hadn’t stopped Delia before. In fact, she was sure she had once pinned this waitress in a black dress against the bathroom wall and taken her home for more.

It was hard to tell in the dark. And the VIP loft was dark.

“Can I get you another drink, Ms. Benoist?” asked the silky voice of the woman interested in Delia. Her cleavage sure is happy to see me. And Tiffani, damn her, couldn’t stop grinning. “Maybe another martini?”

“Diet soda, please,” Delia said before she was tempted by more alcohol. “With lime.” There. That would make her feel like she was in a club.

“You cutting back?” Tiffani asked after the waitress wandered away to check on other tables in the VIP loft. “Oh, because of your aunt? The lush?”

Delia did not deign that with an answer. “I want to take it easy for a while. I’m looking at the real possibility that I’ll have to recalibrate my life. You don’t make it to thirty and suddenly have everything figured out. Maybe it’s time I went into business for myself…”

“Ooh, what is Delia going to do?”

Unfortunately, Delia didn’t have an answer for that. Her plans were always a few steps behind her actions.

“What everyone else who’s bored and needs a new job does now,” she lamented. “Start a FansOnly.”

Tiffani laughed until abruptly stopping. It was like she had forgotten that she had a FansOnly a few years ago! Didn’t make shit. Go figure. Tiffani claimed that it was an outlet, a form of “expression” above anything else. Sure, kid. Whatever made Tiffani feel better about spreading it all out on camera. Nothing I’ve never seen before.