Page 64 of Slumming It

"One."

Yeah, right.I knew otherwise. "One car? Or one Ferrari?"Either way, he was lying his ass off.

"One Ferrari." He gave a derisive snort. "What, you don't think one's not enough?"

Great.NowIsounded greedy. "Of course I do. One is more than enough." In the shadowed car, I searched his profile for signs of deception. "But I read somewhere thatyouhave four."

"Wehave four," he corrected. "They're not all mine."

This wasn't what the article had said, but his answer was surprisingly believable. After all, hedidhave three business partners. And now I felt like an idiot. "Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

When he said nothing in response, I let the subject drop and returned my to attention to the road. Already, we were turning onto Diamond Drive, the long, tree-lined stretch that led to the resort itself.

As we did, my stomach gave a concerning little lurch.Oh, God. What if I did throw up?

I gave a hard swallow and then another.I couldn’t.I wouldn’t.The only thing worse than arriving in my unfortunate outfit would be to arrive in that same outfit covered in the contents of my own stomach.

The outfit itself consisted of tattered jeans and a ratty pink T-shirt. The shirt wasn't even a plain one that might go unnoticed. Instead, it was emblazoned with the name of its former owner – Lareena, apparently – who must've had a real thing for silver glitter.

I knew this because her name was spelled out across the front in sparkly silver letters, now faded and cracked with age. Whoever this person was, she'd washed the shirt so many times, it looked ready to fall apart at any moment.

I just prayed the moment wouldn't come tonight.

While I was at it, I also prayed that at least one of those washings had occurred recently – preferably sometime within the past twenty-four hours.

I lowered my head and gave the shirt a long, silent sniff. Itsmelledfine, but you never knew, right?

With my head still lowered, I plucked at the shirt's frayed hemline. Add a pink feather-boa, and I'd look like a flamboyant hobo.

Reese Murdock's voice interrupted my thoughts. "So, what'd you wear the last time?"

"You mean the last time I tried to get in?" The memory still stung, but I tried not to show it. "It was nothing special, just a black cocktail dress."

Even so, I'd saved all month to buy it, and I'd looked pretty good in it, too. Or at least,Iliked to think so. Tonight, I was under no such illusion.

I reached up and ran a nervous hand through my hair, now free of its bun. As the long strands sifted through my fingers, I stifled a groan of despair.

Terrific.My hair felt wavy in some parts but straight in others – no doubt the result of me putting it in a bun while it was still wet.

I gave a mental sigh. That's what I got for selling my soul – bad hair and a worse attitude, even if I was trying not to show it.

After all, it's not like Reese Murdock had gotten my soul for free. No, I'd sold it myself for a fat wad of cash – not only the two-thousand dollars, but the extra two-hundred as my daily payment for showing him around.

Twenty-two hundred dollars total.

Before heading out to his car, I'd tucked the money deep into the front pocket of my ragged jeans – jeans that weren't even my own.

I looked down, giving the tattered denim a long, concerned look. Silently I compared my jeans to his.Hisjeans had onlyonehole – that big one in the knee.Myjeans had ten times as many, maybe more. Heck, the entire outer side of my left leg showed more skin than fabric, and the right side wasn't much better.

On the upside, I wasn't flashing any of my spicier bits because all of the holes fell well below my crotch. Still, the look was far from respectable, especially compared to how Morgan and Nikki dressed whenevertheywent out.

Back at the hotel, I'd spent barely two minutes changing into this latest outfit before spending less thanoneminute touching up my hair and makeup.

Considering the result, I shouldn't have bothered. The outfit was non-negotiable, the hair was a lost cause, and a swipe of pink lipstick wouldn't save me now.

In the driver's seat, Reese Murdock looked annoyingly unconcerned as we pulled to a stop in front of Solitaire's, which had its own valet service.

I glanced toward the club itself. A crowd was gathered around the entrance as if waiting to get inside. The group wasn't terribly big, maybe twenty people at the most. But every single one of them looked like a million bucks compared to me.