Chapter One

Brooke

I push open the back door of my apartment and step into the small, square kitchen. A shirtless man stands in the middle of the kitchen, wolfing down a sandwich. I’m not even surprised. It’s the kind of thing you get used to walking into, living with my best friend Stella. He looks like all the others, attractive and with an athletic build.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” I return cheerfully, turning in the other direction and going into the hallway leading to my room.

Stella emerges from her room, wearing denim shorts and a white tube top that shows off the butterfly tattoo on her back. Her short platinum-blonde hair is messy, and so is her makeup. She squeals when she sees me. “You’re back!”

“And you were supposed to be working.” I smile, motioning to the man in the kitchen while dragging my small suitcase behind me .

Stella is a stylist and make-up artist. We met in our first year at Brooklyn College and have been inseparable ever since.

“I got off early, and so did Jake. He came over, and one thing led to another…”

“Stop,” I say, putting one hand up. “I don’t need to hear all the details.”

“Come on.” She follows me into my room. “I want to tell you since that’s the closest you’ll get to having a good time in over a year or however long it’s been since you broke up with Phil.”

It has been two years, and he was my first boyfriend, the cheating bastard. I was so devastated that I gave up on dating and men in general, much to Stella’s dismay, and threw myself into work.

There just hasn’t been enough time between teaching and running the school’s art and music club and planning trips for Regal Elementary to fit in another relationship. I’d created the after-school clubs, and while the school board was enthusiastic about having these extracurriculars, they were slow on funding, which meant fewer hands to help with projects and exhibitions.

“I don’t need a man to have a good time,” I say.

“Agreed.” Stella nods. “If only your idea of a good time wasn’t sitting on the couch watching New Girl while you knit.”

“It’s crocheting, and it helps me relax.”

“Still a grandma activity,” she says.

“Tell your buddy to put some clothes on.” I throw my suitcase on the bed and start to unpack.

“So, how did it go?” She sits on the bed, forgetting about the dude in the kitchen.

I let out a huge sigh. “Let’s just say I’ll be paying them back until I die at this rate. ”

I found out just last week that my idiot brother has been taking out loans to fund his gambling addiction. He’s dug himself a hole so deep he’s dragging the entire family into it.

I’d received a phone call from a man called Fulvio, threatening to hurt every member of my family, starting with Grandma, if we didn’t pay him what Steve owed him. What an asshole.

Fulvio had known everyone by name, where they were, and what they did. Still, I refused to believe it wasn’t some kind of joke. I called Steve immediately.

“What the hell, Steve?” I’d yelled when he confirmed it was true.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am, sis…” he began.

“How much do you owe?” I cut short the apology I wasn’t ready to hear or accept.

“I’ve paid back some and I’m working on the rest.”

“Not fast enough, apparently; this Fulvio person threatened to push Nan off the stairs. Did you know that?”

Thankfully neither Mom nor Nan had received any unusual texts. When Steve kept avoiding the question of how much was still outstanding, I knew it was bad. I took the next few days off work to see Mom and Nan in Providence, just to be sure they were fine. Then I went to Boston to get the details out of Steve.

I’d imagined he owed maybe fifty grand at the most. It was worse.

This is another level , I thought, even for him .

“How much does he owe?” Stella asks.

I take a breath. “Two hundred and eighty-nine thousand dollars.” My heart skips a beat every time I say that number out loud. We do not have that kind of money. Not even if we pool all our savings and sell off Mom’s struggling antique shop.

“Holy shit! That’s a lot of money.” Stella states the obvious.

My bun is suddenly too tight. I sit and whip off the band, massaging my throbbing temple. “I know. I just… I’m so tired I want to take a nap, and hopefully, when I wake up, this will all have gone away.”

“We’ll figure something out, okay,” Stella says, rubbing my shoulder.

“Thanks, babe.” Then I remember the shirtless guy. “You’re ignoring your… guest ,” I say, for lack of a better word.

“Jake? Oh, he’s just leaving.” Her voice drops. “By the way, girrrl, the mechanics of what that guy’s tongue can do needs to be studied… now if only he had a personality to match, I’d be set for life.”

This is something I did not need to know. Ever. “Eww, Stella.”

She laughs. “I know, I love you too. Get some sleep.”

A few hours later, I’m still in bed when I hear Stella’s excited yelp, and in seconds, her footsteps get nearer until my door crashes open.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” She’s fanning herself with one hand and the other one is holding her phone.

“What is it?” I sit up.

“I just booked Cherise!” she says, and my eyes pop.

“Cherise as in the Cherise?” Cherise is one of the biggest pop stars on the scene, on tour in New York next month. Stella had been raving about going to one of her concerts.

“How—” I begin.

“Word of mouth, I guess. Her manager just called. They need an extra make-up artist for both concerts—in Madison Square and Newark. I can hardly believe it!”

“Well, I can. You’re so good at what you do. She is lucky to have you on her team.”

“Aww! Thanks, babe. You know we have to celebrate, right?” She starts texting someone.

“Yeah. I’ll get champagne.” I shuffle off the bed.

“No. Forget that. We’re going out.” She puts her phone down and looks at me. I know that look. It’s almost pointless to argue with Stella when she gets like that. Still, I try. Loud music and sweaty bodies are so not my idea of unwinding.

“It’s a Friday,” she says, “and after the day you just had, you could use a drink or three.”

“Yeah,” I agree, “but we can do it here.”

“Not at home. That’s depressing alcoholic behavior,” she says. “We need a night out.”

“Stella—”

“Brooke, come on.” She holds both my hands. “I don’t want to go by myself. We’ll come back early. I promise.”

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll go with you.”

She beams, gives me a quick hug, then picks up her buzzing phone.

She looks at it for a second then sends me a look of triumph. “And I just got us into the Empire! C’mon, we need to get ready.” She’s already shooing me toward her room.

“Hey,” I protest. “I can get dressed by myself.”

“Brooke,” she says, “I love you, but I’d never let you dress yourself to go to a club like Empire. You’d get us kicked out.”

“I have nice clothes.”

“Yeah, from H&M. ”

“Fine.” I huff. “Show me my options.”

We stop in front of her closet. I can see she’s excited. Stella loves to dress and make me up. Actually, anyone would do, just that I’m usually the most available option to try out a new makeup look on. She looks at me like she’s never seen me before. “Let’s see… five-seven, great legs”—she pokes her face into her small closet—“big ass…”

“Stella!”

“I couldn’t resist.” She laughs. “You have curves a lot of women would kill for, too bad you don’t like to flaunt them.” She finds her mark. “Well, not tonight, girlfriend. I have the perfect dress for you.” She throws a tiny midnight-blue dress on the bed, and I pick and hold it up.

“This is the size of a sock.”

“It stretches,” Stella informs me, “and it’s great, trust me.”

I throw it back on the bed, shaking my head. I don’t think so. “Let’s keep looking.”

“Okay, how about this?” She holds out a sleeveless short black number. “This is Ralph Lauren, and it’s perfect,” she announces. “It has a built-in bra and corset and will make your boobs look amazing. It’s also a size too big so it’s the closest thing to a size 8 I’ve got.”

I take the dress she hands out and immediately love the feel of the thick material. I try it on. When Stella fastens the zip, and I turn to look in the mirror, I see she is right. It fits like a glove and flows over my curves without pinching or digging. And my breasts look amazing.

“Not bad actually.” I tug on the hem. “Maybe a tad too short— ”

“Brooke, it’s perfect on you, stop fussing.”

Stella changes into a backless, sparkly black halter neck minidress, then we head into her bathroom to get our makeup on. Stella does my foundation and contouring and finishes my eyes with a smokey gray shadow.

Before doing my lips, she hands me a cup that contains a concoction she whipped up in the kitchen earlier.

“Drink up. We are almost done,” she says. It’s a little stronger than I expect but I chug it. She finishes off with my lips and takes a step back.

“Perfect,” she pronounces, then turns to do her own makeup. I turn to my reflection and take in the results. She’s managed to emphasize my dark gray almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips, all without looking overdone.

“Wow,” I say.

“I know, I’m awesome.” She smiles, looking at me in the mirror.

We take a taxi to Fifth Avenue, where the Empire nightclub is. When we reach the high-rise building, I pause, taking in the breadth and height. Stella pulls my hand. “Come on, Cinderella, our ball awaits.”