揇id you see Crew Kensington is here??a third voice asks. My hand stills halfway across my lower lip.
揌e抯 hard to miss. Anna St. Clair was over there in seconds.?That surprisingly sober sentence comes from the woman who was spilling gibberish about some film premiere seconds ago.
揑抦 surprised he抯 here. He hasn抰 been coming out much. Kensington Consolidated just bought that new electronics company. Isn抰 he taking that over for his father, along with everything else? Talk about a slap to the face for Oliver.?
揑 thought that was just gossip. Like the engagement to Scarlett Ellsworth.?
揘o, I heard that抯 true. He抯 really going to marry her.?
揟hen why hasn抰 he??the woman formerly complaining about her heels asks.
揗aybe Crew is trying to get out of it. She抯 not exactly his type. He likes his women a little卨ooser.?She laughs. 揘ot the princess of Park Avenue and her perfect pedestal.?
揥ho cares? He抣l still sleep around, just with a few extra billions in his pocket.?
揋od, can you imagine having that much money? Scarlett is so lucky.?
揝he抯 already as rich as he is,?one of them points out.
I smile at that. Richer. Crew has to split his inheritance with his older brother Oliver. I抦 an only child.
揌ow greedy can she be? Doesn抰 she already have enough money??
They抮e jealous梐nd drunk. But still, I want to lecture them about the hypocrisy. Crew isn抰 greedy? Just me?
揝he抯 not even that pretty. I抳e never seen her smile or flirt梕ver. At the Waldorfs?holiday party, she spent the whole evening talking business. Margaret said she was bored out of her mind.?
揗argaret is always bored out of her mind. I would be too, if I were married to Richard.?
揑抦 just saying梥he probably can抰 get anyone else to marry her. Her father needed to dangle billions to snag a catch. Pathetic.?
I cap my lipstick and drop it back in my clutch, tucking the bag under one arm and opening the door to head for the lounge. Being the subject of gossip is nothing new to me. Everyone has an unhealthy obsession with wealth and power梐nd those who have it梕ven if they tell themselves they don抰。
A thick skin and fake it until you make it mentality are requisites for surviving in this world梕specially if you have higher aspirations than spending a trust fund, which I do. No one wants to do business with a coward. The women抯 movement hasn抰 seen much movement in the upper echelons of society. Business is a boys?club.
The only reason I have any foothold in it is the fact I抦 the sole heir to the Ellsworth empire. Complications during my birth prevented my mother from ever conceiving again. Even a man as cold-hearted and indifferent as my father couldn抰 stomach filing for divorce on those grounds alone. It抯 one of the main reasons he抯 pushed for my marriage to a Kensington, though. There was never any question梚n his mind, at least梩hat I would marry well. The antiquated elite see no value in their children marrying anyone with less money than they do. Marrying down. Especially when it comes to a son who will carry on the name to the next generation.
For my family, the closest economic equivalent is the Kensingtons. It抯 an arrangement advantageous to both sides, which is unique. Usually, one party gains more than the other. More money, more assets, more status.
Crew is my best option. Our situation is different because I抦 also his best option. I have more power than most women entering an arranged marriage and no intention of ceding a single inch of it.
I stroll into the lounge with my head held high. All three of the women perched on velvet look familiar, but none of their names come to me right away. The only social events I attend are the ones I抦 required to. Most of Manhattan抯 elite feel fortunate to be invited to the endless slew of functions that act as an excuse to show off how much money you can spend on or in one evening. I only attend the parties where my lack of presence would be an insult.
As soon as I appear, all conversation ceases. Six eyes widen. Three sets of lips purse. A few harsh comments sneak to the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them. You can抰 expect anyone to see you as above them if you lower yourself to their level. Insults say more about the speaker than the intended recipient.
I sweep past the three surprised women and out of the lounge without a word or a stumble. Rather than head straight back to my booth, I pause at the bar, stopping about twenty feet from where he is standing. One of the black-clad bartenders immediately rushes over to me.
揋in martini, please,?I order.
揜ight away, miss,?he replies.
He spins and immediately sets about making my drink, indicating he抯 worked here long enough to appreciate Proof抯 patrons don抰 tolerate being kept waiting. I watch the dimmed lights twinkle off the line of colored bottles behind the bar as another bartender smoothly measures a stream of vodka and squeezes grapefruit atop it.