Chapter 1
Claire
A5th Avenue shopping spree is all I need to get over a fight with my father. Or, as he’s called in the office, Mr. Jeffery Donovan. That’s always said with so much reverence. I take a deep, mind-clearing breath, pick up my phone, and post another sexy photo with the caption “Screw him and his propriety and responsibilities” on my Instagram. This cleavage-revealing post with pink pouty lips is really going to piss him off again. I really don’t understand why he’s not used to it by now—his friends have been spank banking me since I turned sixteen, and I’ve got DMs that would make him cringe, or commit murder.
“Would you please stop embarrassing me and your mother with your goddamn Instagram porn?! You know that all ofourfriends follow you, right? Have you no self-respect?” That’s what Dad would always say.
Well, I’m twenty-one, and I’m gonna live like it! I’m not forty! I want to enjoy myself while I can. I’m not gonna stay young forever! I want to storm the world with reckless abandon and enjoy what little bit of freedom I have left before obligations start to chain me to things.
Dad always nags that I should get a job at his firm, take some responsibility for myself blah blah blah, that I shouldn’t be one of those brats who know nothing but post kissy duck faces on the Internet. Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t want to waste away at some job missing out on the best years of my life. I’d rather post duck lips.
He’s got some nerve telling me to stop my extravagant spending while he’s private jetting with his harem of groupies all over the world. He doesn’t need to curtail his behavior, but I do? Seriously? How can he tell me to stop buying Louis and Louboutins when he’s out there wining and dining two of my mother’s best friends—at the same time?! What a dick!
At last my limo rolls up the driveway, and I am out the door. I have got some big plans tonight with my best girlfriends, Laurie and Kathy. That’s another thing my dad hates—my friends. He gets pretty upset that my friends and I keep showing up in all the tabloids. It’s not our fault that we’re more interesting than the news.
“To one more shopping spree before we start behaving ourselves!” Laurie raised her glass of champagne, a toast to me and our fuck-you-dad shopping spree. We all cheer, laugh, then pile out of the limo, charged up and ready to spend.
“Ready to indulge, Claire?” Kathy asks, bumping me with her hip.
“Absolutely.” I grin my evil grin, the one that I save for occasions like this.
After bouncing from store to store, buying everything we want but don’t need, we head to the best and poshest spa in town—the Pink Kitten, known for its gorgeous male employees. This place is so popular that it’s often a venue for reality shows, and now they are booked out one year in advance. Lucky for me, my mother has a standing appointment for herself and her two besties once a week for the next year. Mom lets us use it whenever we want, and we often do.
“Hello, ladies.” We are greeted by the sexiest shirtless masseuse I’ve ever laid my eyes on. “Will you be joining us for the full treatment today?
“Uh, ya, um, yes,” I stumble over my tongue taking in his man beauty.
“Perfect. Can we get you ladies some champagne?”
Kathy purrs, “Yes, sir, you absolutely can.”
This place is so fun it’s like that showVanderpump Rules. They only hire hot young guys with huge muscles, perfect hair, and fake tans. Kathy and Laurie love them; I just love being pampered, period. I couldn’t care less if it’s a little elderly woman giving the massage as long as she has a good karate chop. But I do have to admit, the guys are hot as hell, and this place is well worth the drama I will have to put up with when my father sees the enormous bill.
We get a private room away from all the paparazzi and settle in for a relaxing few hours in heaven. We giggle through seaweed wraps, facials with gold flakes, and hour-long full body massages. I practically melt with the hot rocks. All of my senses absorb the aromatherapy filling the air.
The rest of the world disappears. There’s only the sound of the indoor waterfall, the music, and the bliss of being rejuvenated. I open my eyes and glance at the girls again. They’re in the same heaven, happily being worshipped by drool-worthy men.
“Oh my god… What the… Why does that feel like oral sex?” Laurie asks the beautiful man who slipped her toe into his mouth. He makes eye contact with her, grins then slides his tongue over her big toe while she watches in amazement and unable to speak, her mouth practically on the floor.
There’s a reason we only go to this spa and pay top dollar—we’re fawned over like goddesses, and it is always an amazing experience. Men bring us champagne, chocolate-covered strawberries, and anything else we ask for without complaint.
Kathy and Laurie are giggling and flirting so shamelessly that they’re practically purring pornography. My blonde Adonis, who I swear I saw on a magazine cover, winks at me and flashes a perfect smile as he adds CBD oil to my skin. Another hunk rubs my feet until I’m nearly moaning. Jesus. I stop and take a slow, deep breath, enjoying the moment. The fact that I am in public didn’t do anything to keep me from getting wet. Both of them massaging me at the same time is driving me out of my head.
After the two hot guys practically finish me off with a little “happy ending” running down my thighs, I dissolve in the hot tub to cool myself down. The bubbles and bath oil cloud all my worries away. I don’t need to worry about anything today. Hell, I shouldn’t be worrying about anythingat all. I have two more months of fun before I have to lock myself into a career and then slowly become my father.
But worry still finds a way in somehow. Now that I’ve graduated from college, I don’t have any excuse for quitting jobs after a few weeks of boredom. “School” isn’t an easy out anymore either.
Sure, I want to be responsible and independent, but some habits are hard to kick. I’ve gotten used to my parents paying my way. They’ve been mostly patient and willing to look the other way when I go a little wild with money. Not that I’ll tell Laurie and Kathy any of this. We don’t talk about serious things. Since high school, our conversations have revolved around boys, parties, shopping trips, and spa visits like this one.
I look over at Kathy, whose eyes are rolling in the back of her head. “How are you doing, Kath?”
“How am I doing? Oh my god. I have no words to describe how stress-free I am doing right now, Claire. Did you get the CBD? This is so good, we need to make a point of doing this twice a week.” A smile slowly spreads across her face as she closes her eyes to enjoy her hot-stone butt rub.
Kathy’s the only one that talks about work. And only because she finds it so funny that her pictures and videos keep her in a lavish lifestyle. Despite looking like she should be in the classiest of galas and magazines, she settles for taking money from thirsty dudes on the Internet. She takes a slow sip of champagne as the men finish her off and polish her feet to perfection.
Kathy has said she makes her best money from the older guys. She’s even met a few of them, says they’re sweet and sometimes sexy enough that she’s tempted to do more than join them for a free dinner.
I don’t really get the appeal of someone old and wrinkly, but I haven’t really seen that many old guys, so maybe I’m just biased. After all, nobody could compete with the one older man I was lucky enough to see—my dad’s former best friend, James fresh out of the shower. I still don’t understand why he was inourshower instead of at his house where he belonged. But the way he stood in front of the mirror as he slowly wrapped the towel around his hips nearly made me moan and get caught like some peeping Tom.