**THIS BOOK IS ON HOLD UNTIL I'M DONE WRITING LOVE CONSEQUENCES** Linda Baxter's trust fund makes life easy, but she learned that things in pretty packages are not worth her time. By twenty-nine, she tried marriage, fabricated a fake relationship, a...
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The choice of the lunch place is not based on my preferred cuisine, or a Michelin guide recommendation. My goal is small and big. I'm looking for my photos with Artem to make Brenda the most irritated possible. And for the bill to be the largest to send my father into another tirade about my excessive spending of his money.
I might understand villains now. The feeling of the revenge is so heady, I'm not sure I can stop. If I make Brenda suffer even a little, make her life a bit more unpleasant . . . It might not be a full payback for the hurt she inflicted on me, but it will be something. And something is better than nothing.
My usual routine includes hiding from the potential paparazzi. One reason I got the apartment in Chicago in the secure building was to ensure I never get accosted by them or other randos at my door. But most of the time the paps only care about me when Brenda, or BB as the world prefers to call her, entangles me in another one of her schemes.
Today is the day I'm cashing in my media favors. At least five outlets promised to send some photographers to Suede. I've seeded enough hints that I shouldn't need to worry about finding my face, alongside Artem's, on the gossip sites.
The hotel's limo drops me off at the entrance of Suede, the most hyped restaurant I could get a table at using Baxter name. I pretend not to see the group with cameras on the ready and they pretend not to see me. The stage is set for my grand exit with Artem.
I'm a vision in off-white. The maxi skirt and the sleeveless cropped top made of textured raw silk are from CHLOÉ's spring-summer Paris Fashion Show, on pre-order for the general population. The metal feathers on long strings jangle as I strut in my equally off-white fashion sneakers and raw silk long trench form the same collection.
I don't hear any camera clicks, but I don't need them until Artem and I exit the restaurant. The large entry room backs to a fish tank that is the centerpiece of the dining space beyond.
"Reservations under Baxter," I say.
The host does a double take. My outfit. My eyes. I could be mistaken for my sister from the distance, but this close, I'm not the Baxter they were expecting. Too late.
