Page 186 of Powerhouse: Boxed Set
The times tallied up nicely with Elaine’s calendar entry.
I dialed the number for theCyrus Bar. “I want tickets for Blue Hawk,” I told him. “Saturday night. The best seats.”
“It’s sold out,” he replied.
“Nothing’s sold out when you have enough money. Name your price.”
He named a ridiculous price.
“Done.”
“I’ll make sure you’re on the list.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Elaine
Iwas sickwhen I woke up on Saturday morning, insides struggling against the champagne from the social night before. I’d been on a party high, stretching out from Petra’s charity gala on Thursday until I passed out late on Friday.
One long round of intoxication that had slammed me into the weekend.
So much for my plan to reform. I looked a mess in the bathroom mirror. My eyes had dark shadows. My skin was pale, crying out for a layer of blush. My lips were dry and cracked, and I felt sick.
I stumbled through to the kitchen and made myself a coffee, but it hit my stomach hard, making the nausea worse. I’d missed a call from Tristan so I called him back as soon as I’d forced myself to throw back the caffeine, hoping I wouldn’t retch with him on the line.
His tone was fresh enough to hurt my ears when he answered. “Hey, baby. You still on for tonight? Please say you’re still coming.”
If I had any sense I’d call it off and say I was busy with Constantine stuff, but I didn’t want to. Our bond of friendship was way too deep, and I was way too curious. Curious to meet the weird piece of cock who had blatantly worked Tristan up into a lather. “Yeah, I’m still on for tonight.”.
He let out a whoop, and I managed a smile, even through my shitty hangover. I was still smiling when I spoke again, ignoring the pulse of my headache.
“I’d better wear something good. Don’t want to stand out like a Constantine beacon, do I?”
“No diamonds,” he said, laughing.
“No diamonds.”
“Shit, I gotta go,” he said. “I’m meeting up with Kayleigh-Jane for a park run. Almost there.”
My heart dropped a little at the thought. His life was so light against my darkness. He had so many people who cared about him. So many people who welcomed him with arms wide open. But that figured. He was a careable-about kind of guy.
Part of me wished I could ditch being a Constantine forever and start again. Somewhere I could be free, where people had no idea who I was, or who I was surrounded by. Where the world wasn’t governed by what I should be doing, and what I was failing at.
Failure should’ve been my middle name. I was the queen of failure. Still, it hurt when people pointed it out constantly.
Cyrus Bar was as close to freedom as I was likely to get anytime this century.
I hadn’t told anyone where I was going. I’d ditched one of my regular charity events, and nobody had really pushed me for explanations. I didn’t want security buzzing about the place, or a chauffeur waiting outside, or scowls from my family members if they realized I was heading to see a performer who didn’t have a billion-dollar record deal.
No. This could be my one night off.
The one night I could mingle without anyone even looking my way.
I didn’t have any clothes in my wardrobe that weren’t designer, so I improvised. I took a tight little black dress and tore some black tights, then checked myself out in the mirror. Yeah, that could do it. I would usually style my hair to perfection before I went anywhere, but I paused as I reached for my hairbrush. No. Messy suited me fine.
It was strange calling a cab to my apartment later that night instead of pressing the buzzer for a chauffeur. It was stranger still to meet them at the rear of the complex, not risking security catching me on my way out and alerting my mom to my disappearance.
I settled down into the back seat and tugged my gloves up higher on my arms. My eyeliner was a sweeping black, giving me an emo-goth look at total odds to the woman I was. I liked it.
