Page 17 of The Ring
“Nothing,” he answers, then excuses himself to go to the loo.
I follow him. Normally, I would let this go, but he has already exhausted my patience.
“Seriously, what is your deal?” I ask him as he comes out of the toilets.
He looks annoyed. “Nothing, as I said.”
“Does this have to do with Amelie?” I ask. “I saw her friend, the one with the blue hair, and she told me Amelie saidyoubroke up withher, not the other way around. So, did she lie, or did you?”
“It’s none of your business,” he says sharply.
“Itismy business if this is why you have been so irritable lately.”
Nate hasn’t looked me in the eye the whole time, but now his brown eyes meet mine and he says, raising his voice, “I haven’t questioned you about how youfucked upyour relationship with Cornelia, so afford me the same courtesy.”
Then he walks away, leaving me astonished. Nate is usually level-headed and rarely gets rattled, but somethingseems to have changed. I thought he’d return to the table, but as I go back, I find out he actually left the restaurant.
Chapter 9
Cornelia
“Another gin martini, please,” I say to the bartender. “With three olives,” I add out of routine.
I’m at West’s nightclub, Red Lips,with the whole Heptad Society. It’s somewhere between a cabaret and a nightclub, reminds me a little of The Box,but less wild, less loud, a lot more exclusive, and bigger. The layout is a slightly curved line, with a stage at the centre. At one end are the bar counter and the loos, and at the other end are a few small rooms with cleaning supplies, along with the stairs that lead to the few tables upstairs and the offices, including West’s. When you walk in, one of the first things you see is the stage, lit up like it’s daring you to go wild. I used to spend most of my weekends here before I went away. I know this club like the back of my hand—all the nooks and crannies, every good spot to hook up or hide. TJ and I made good use of them all.
I’ve been avoiding the London social scene since I got back, but West convinced Annabelle to get me to come out for some photo ops and promotion for the club. Not that it needs it—the club always has a two-block line to get in. But West says that tokeep it that way, the nightclub needs to remain the place where everyone wants to be seen, including socialites (I hate the word, but technically I’m one) and celebrities alike.
In other words, he wanted pictures of me entering the club so people would think they might get a chance to get with me if they came. I’m well aware I’m semi-pimping myself, but Annabelle asked, and to my peril, there are very few things I wouldn’t do for her. Besides, I get to drink for free—not that I need it.
It was a fair agreement, one in which West would normally have the upper hand since, though I like to drink the expensive stuff, I’m not a big drinker (or I like to think I’m not). But tonight isn’t the case.
I’m drunk. Why? Honestly, the answer is “why not?” In the last few months, my boyfriend cheated on me with my mother, and neither of them has apologised for it. I’m back studying something I dislike, and for the first time in my entire academic career, I turned in a paper yesterday that I’m not even sure is worth a passing grade. The good thing is, Anthony is in New York for business, so I don’t have to worry about him judging me for getting drunk tomorrow.
The boys are at our usual booth—the best one in the place. From there, you can see almost the entire nightclub, and the music isn’t as loud, which means you can actually talk. I hate when the music’s so deafening you can barely hear yourself think. Annabelle wandered off to another table to talk to some guy, and I scattered when a few girls started heading our way. I wasn’t in the mood to witness TJ flirting with them firsthand.
I went to the loo, and on my way back, I started chatting with a guy. We ended up at the bar. He eventually bored me, so I got rid of him, but I stayed put. Given it’s the fastest way to get alcohol, and here, Laurie and Lucian can’t monitor my consumption like they were doing at the table.
“Here you are,” says a voice I know all too well behind me.
“Here I am,” I reply, turning to face Nate.
He hasn’t talked much to me since I got back. I even thought he was avoiding me. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he had after what happened in Paris.
“So, this is where you’ve been hiding.” He positions himself right beside me.
“I’m not hiding,” I reply, pausing for a beat. “I’m just making friends.”
He looks around. “With whom?”
I point to the bartender. “Him.”
Nate laughs. “Cool skirt, by the way.”
I know it’s cool, plus it makes for an awesome conversation starter. I’m wearing an Acne Studios brown leather miniskirt with a bag attached to it (so fun and perfect for not losing anything when you go out), a grey Chanel vintage tank top, YSL black heels, a few gold chains from my jeweller, and my usual Jessica McCormack. I also have the Conch Shell ring on the middle finger of my left hand, and a pair of 0.40-carat diamond gypsy earrings, both also from Jessica McCormack.
“Thanks, it has a bag.” I get closer to him and open the bag to show him. “I have my keys and my cards in there.”
He smiles but takes a step back, his gaze sweeping over me. “Are you drunk?”
