Billionaire Stepbrother: Autumn(8)

Chapter Eight



“I’m famous!” Phoebe squeals as she waves a glossy magazine about in the air.

“I still can’t believe you slapped him. You actually slapped him!”

It’s a week later after the incident at Club Empire, and Phoebe can’t stop smiling.

She opens the latest gossip magazine to a photo of her slapping Lex. Phoebe in her tight–fighting dress looks fierce; her complexion glows just perfectly for the camera – she’s a goddess in heels. Whereas poor Lex looks extremely ruffled.

The caption beneath the half–page spread reads: “Too hot to handle: Billionaire playboy Lex Chamberlin humiliated by unknown female – Club Empire.”

“It was brilliant,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “What on earth did you say to him, though?”

“Oh, you know. Basically called him a worthless piece of shit.” She grins.

“I do feel a little bit sorry for him, though.”

“Pack that right in, Aimee. From what little you’ve told me, he hurt you, he humiliated you. Don’t you forget that. ‘Bout time you got some payback.”

I nod in agreement, but only because it’s expected of me. “Thanks. What would I do without you, eh?”

“You’d still be mousing around, that’s what!” she replies, digging her fingers into my ribs. And I know, it’s true. She’s magically brought me out of a dark place… Yet, there’s still a part of me that wants to crawl back into that comforting, miserable hole, waiting for Lex to return.

As if reading my mind, Phoebe adds, “Don’t you dare fall back into his trap if you see him this weekend.”

“I know, I know,” I reply, dutifully.

The upcoming Saturday marks my Mom’s one year engagement anniversary to Michael. Not their wedding anniversary, mind you… “Any reason for a party, Aimee!” I hear my mom say.

Regardless, she would kill me if I missed her big night. I’m already in her bad books for avoiding going home for Sunday lunch, so like the good daughter I am, I give in. I plan to stay a few minutes, show my face, avoid Lex at all costs, then leave to meet up with friends, returning only once all the guests have gone.

Maybe he won’t even be there, I think. Not that I’ve been keeping tabs, but he’s been spotted clubbing practically every night this week…

“I wish you could come,” I say, my bottom lip stuck out, pouting.

“Hell, so do I. Want to see how the other half lives, don’t I? I bet their place is amazing. But I can’t skip out on this study–group again or they’ll kick me out. It’s all right for you first–years, but in second year, the professors don’t half pile the work on. And I really can’t afford to slack off.”

“Yeah, but it’ll only be a couple of hours at most…”

“Aimee, you’re a big girl. I’ve got faith in you. You can do this without me.”

I admire her confidence in me, and wish I could feel the same.





Chapter Nine



I tell myself I don’t care if he’s going to be there, but we all know that’s a stinking fat lie. So, I make sure to find the sexiest dress I can and spend at least three hours at my dressing table preparing my skin, face and hair; I’m so polished that I almost don’t recognise myself when I look in the mirror. The weight I’d inadvertently lost I’ve partially gained back; my face has filled out a little, but my cheekbones are more prominent now. My slinky curves are back too, filling out every nook and cranny of the tight shimmery blue number I picked out. If Lex is there, at least he’ll get a good eyeful of what he’s missing out on.

I arrive at the party a little late, as is my intention. I step out of the car that has been sent for me as movie stars do, into the brisk night air. The skies above threaten to snow.

A thickly–coated doorman opens the heavy glass door for me, and I take a deep breath of head–clearing air before proceeding into Chamberlin Tower.

With each step forward, my four–inch heels tap away, and I fight the temptation to turn around and retreat.

You can do this, Phoebe’s words echo in my mind.

I smile nervously at the desk clerk and call for the elevator; it arrives instantly. I take another brave step forward and push the button for the penthouse apartment.

The doors slide open, and a wash of chatter and delicate classical music flow over me. The apartment is packed with people – caterers, and even a string quartet. I shake my head; so much for it being a small affair.

You don’t have to stay long, just go say hello and then disappear. Easy–peasy, I think.