I take in the $4,000 suit Andrew had no problem getting for Aiden, someone he doesn’t even know, and wonder how far that money would’ve went back before Aiden started racing, how far it would still go for Aiden and his brothers. That money probably didn’t even make a scratch in Andrew’s account. He probably can’t even tell it’s gone.
“He’s an asshole, Aiden. We already know that. It’s not too late to turn around.”
His grip tightens on the steering wheel. “We’re doing this. Then I’m never seeing him again.”
We follow the line of cars up the large driveway and around the fancy water fountain, stopping in front of the steps that lead to the front door, like all the cars before us had done. A well-dressed man opens my door and offers me a hand to help me out. I step out of the low car as gracefully as I can manage. As I wait for Aiden to hand his keys to the valet, I gawk up at the monster of a mansion.
“What do you think they possibly do with all this space?” I ask Aiden as he joins me.
“Host wild sex orgies.”
Bursting out laughing, I take his offered elbow. I didn’t think he’d be in the joking mood—at least, I think he’s joking.
Together, we walk up the stairs and enter the grandiose front entrance. We stand in line behind a few people, all dressed in expensive-looking dresses, suits, and jewelry.
We get to the front of the line where a woman holding a clipboard and wearing an Andrew Kessler pin stands. Her smile is wide but falters when she notices it’s two kids standing in front of her. “Name?”
“Aiden Parker,” he states, looking down at her.
She flips through the pages. “I’m sorry, you’re not on the—” She pauses as her eyes widen, then hastily flips all the sheets back in place. “Wait here, please.”
We move over to the side of the wide entranceway, while Clipboard Lady whispers something to a man in a black suit wearing an earpiece.
Everything in the house looks so polished, clean, and elegant. I feel out of place even though this is the most expensive dress I’ve ever worn. They’re the kind of rich who decorate their house with those little stands with vases on them, and even the stupid pottery is more elegant than I am, with delicate etchings and real gold flakes. The sudden urge to touch one consumes my mind. It looks so smooth and shiny and—
“Hey!” An angry voice makes me jump, and a bald man with an earpiece walks closer to me. “Don’t touch that,” he sneers. “It’s probably worth more than your car.”
I pull my hand back sheepishly as Aiden glares at the man with an intensity that would’ve made me wither into the floor.
Clipboard Lady comes to stand in front of us again. “Just one moment.” She looks like she swallowed something sour, but she still keeps that smile on her face by sheer force of will.
The large man who dropped off Aiden’s suit and never smiles appears beside Clipboard Lady. She gestures at him. “Mr. Vedenin will escort you to your father.”
“Are we not allowed to mingle?” Aiden asks.
Her smile tightens. “Mr. Kessler made it very clear that he would like Harvey to escort you to him as soon as you arrived.”
Aiden’s gaze bounces from Harvey to Clipboard Lady then back. We’re probably thinking the same thing: Andrew sent Harvey not as an esteemed escort, but as a prison guard.
There’s now a line behind us, but Aiden’s not in any rush to end his stare-off with the large man in front of him. Clipboard Lady shifts nervously. “If you please, I have people waiting.”
Aiden addresses her without shifting his gaze from Harvey. “We’ll find Andrew when we’re ready. I’d like to mingle first.”
With that, he guides me into the house, not caring about her protests or about the large man staring after us. Aiden expertly guides us around the people crowded in the large hallway, each person looking more expensively clad and important than the last, their flowery perfume and musky cologne mixing together so that I can’t pinpoint who’s wearing what, until we can no longer see Harvey or the other men in black suits and earpieces who were at the front entrance.
“Is it just me or does that Harvey guy give off a really bad vibe?” I ask, slowing our pace as we enter a large room. What is this? Is this a ballroom? Do modern homes even have ballrooms? The giant chandelier hanging in the middle of the room looks like it costs more than my house.
“It’s not just you,” Aiden says.
People are mingling while servers in suits walk by with trays, distributing hors d’oeuvres or flutes of champagne. A few large campaign ads are up on the wall across from the large floor-to-ceiling windows. The doors along the wall beside the windows are open, leading out to one long balcony that wraps around the outside of the room, where people are mingling and looking out at what I think is a garden. Ten or so men and women in white suit jackets are in the corner of the room playing soft classical music that fills the room.
“Whoa,” is all I can manage. I feel like I’ve stepped into a scene straight out of The Great Gatsby, but modern, and even richer, if that was possible.
A woman walks by with a purse I know costs about $20,000 (because Charlotte is obsessed with it), and I think maybe I really shouldn’t touch anything.
Aiden takes a deep breath beside me. Although he has his impassive mask on, I can feel the rage bubbling beneath the surface, begging for someone to say one wrong thing or make one wrong move so it can be unleashed. A server walks by with flutes of champagne and Aiden plucks one off and hands it to me, as if sensing that I’m just as overwhelmed as he is.
“I’ve never felt the urge to drink in my life, until right now,” Aiden mutters as he takes in the scene in front of him, his posture rigid and his jaw clenched.