Stripped (16 page)

My head throbs as I walk around the massive table and take my seat. There's a sideboard filled with hot food hidden beneath silver domes, but I'm not particularly hungry. Instead, I pour a cup of coffee and sit back in my chair, wondering what happened to Cassie. I haven't forgiven her for what she did, but I'm not such a dick that I can ignore her now. Stupid ideas bounce through my head that lead back to Cassie's club and Bruce's fists. I can't look for her there. I need to try and find her another way first. I pull out my phone and type her name into the search bar of the web browser.

My eyes flick up when I feel slender fingers slip over my shoulders. Turning the phone face down, I put it on the table before she can see.

"Good morning, Jonathan." Her voice is liquid heat and utterly inappropriate, but that's never stopped her before. Chrissy's hands linger on my shoulders before working their way down my chest, stopping at my nipples, circling them with her long nails. "I thought we had plans last night." I try to glance at her, but Chrissy has her face pressed against mine. Her warm breath tickles my ear when she speaks. "Maybe you're wanting something else—that's all right. You can go do whoever you want, but at the end of the day, I know it's me that you really want." She squeezes my nipples once, hard. The sensation shoots straight to my groin even though I'm mentally somewhere else.

Chrissy is Dad's latest toy, but she's managed to stick around longer than the last one. She has dark blonde hair that falls in a shiny sheet half way down her back, amazing hips, and a boob job that almost makes them look and feel real. She presses those oversized melons to my cheek before standing and walking around the table to her seat. She's my age and wearing a bikini that barely covers anything. My mother is going to flip out. When we were younger, we were sent away from the table for coming down without shoes on, and here's Chrissy with her nipples barely covered. The sarong draped over her hip is sheer and does nothing to hide her perfect ass or the tiny scrap of fabric covering it.

Chrissy doesn't ask questions because she doesn't care. Her goal is to marry a Ferro. I know this because she told me while we were fucking. She'll do anything I want, any time I ask, and even some times when I don't. Before I left last night, I thought I'd want her, but after I saw Cassie I didn't feel like being with anyone. I'm not going to be celibate. I'm not stupid, but why screw someone if you don't feel like it?

Chrissy smiles at me and leans forward slightly, while taking her bikini top between her fingers. She lifts the fabric and flashes me, then winks as she tucks her tits back out of sight. The other mistresses were afraid of my mother and did everything possible to not get caught messing around with me, but Chrissy is pushing the line. It's like she wants to have my parents walk in on us fucking on the breakfast table. That doesn't sound half bad, and yesterday morning I was so pissed that I would have, but I've got some sense of self-preservation. I might be the heir, but Mom can still disown me. Without the Ferro name, I have nothing.

Sean walks in next wearing dark jeans and a black sweater. He looks like the grim reaper with a scowl on his face. He says nothing, doesn't look at either of us, and picks up the paper. Peter and Sidney are the next to show up. They walk in, hand in hand, smiling.

As soon as Sidney lifts her gaze and sees me, the happiness washes away and I get snapped at. "You and I need to talk, Jonathan."

"Told you she'd be pissed," Sean says from behind his paper.

"You said Pete would be pissed, not Sidney."

"Same difference. The man only thinks with her pussy now. He's whipped." Sean places his coffee cup down and looks over the top of his paper when no one answers. Sidney's mouth is hanging open, Peter's scowling at him, Chrissy looks aroused, and I'm laughing because his decorum is so messed up. The guy has no idea he said anything offensive, or maybe he just acts that way. "What? We're going to lie about it?"

Peter glares at Sean, who is sitting next to Chrissy. "You're going to treat Sidney with respect."

"I
am
treating her with respect. You're the one I have the problem with." Sean goes back to reading his paper. Chrissy slurps her coffee and makes a high pitched squeal because it's too hot. Sean glances at her. "If our mother doesn't kill you for wearing that to the table, then I'm going to do it. Act like a fucking adult if you want to be in this room."

Chrissy's eyes fill with fire. She hates Sean. Everyone hates Sean. Before she can say anything, Bryan walks through the door. He's half dressed, wearing a pair of wrinkled jeans and an equally wrinkled shirt.

I raise my chin his way and say, "Did Aunt Lizzy throw you out?"

Bryan sits down hard next to me and grabs his napkin. As he places it in his lap, he glances my way and says, "Did you see the papers? They had a shot of me, you, and Scott all standing there with the word STRIPPERS in the headline. What do you think?"

Mom's voice is utterly cold when she speaks. "I think my sister is right and we should castrate the lot of you." Her eyes lock on mine, furious. The thing with Mom's anger is that she hides it. The only way to tell that she's more pissed than usual is the tiny wrinkle between her Botoxed eyebrows. It twitches in and out, like an old television show with poor reception. Mom turns her gaze on Chrissy and snaps her fingers at the girl. "You, get out."

Chrissy frowns. Her mouth opens, ready to make an argument, but mother doesn't stop snapping. "I've had enough problems with my family and sluts to last a few days. I'm normally a patient woman, but if you don't have the decency to show up at my table, with my family, and wear pants, then I don't owe you a shred of respect. Get out." Mom's voice growls those last two words.

Chrissy's eyes narrow, like she's thinking about fighting back, but she doesn't. Instead, she takes her mimosa and storms out of the room. Dad brushes past Chrissy, his old eyes sweeping over her young, tight body, as she pushes her way to the pool.

"Chrissy?" he calls after her, but she doesn't stop.

Dad turns and storms into the room. Wonderful. World War 7, or 9, or whatever the hell we're up to. Slouching in my chair, I wait. One day they'll all kill each other and I can eat alone.

"What did you say to her?" he yells at Mom.

"Merely that she shouldn't rest her breasts on the table. Clothing is not optional. Honestly, does she think we're running a brothel?" Mom's eyes cut to me, and then Bryan. "Certainly not, although the boys have made it rather unclear, recently. Care to explain yourselves?" She glares at us.

Bryan pushes back from the table to stand, but never gets to his feet. Mom gives him that deadly smile of hers, and says, "Elisabeth told me that you ran out before she could talk to you, so I volunteered to take care of you both."

"Shit," Bryan mutters, and goes pale.

"Until you can act like reasonable young men, your allowances are suspended. Bryan, you're not getting a cent of Ferro money for the next month. Jonathan, I expect you to come into the office and work. No more laying around the pool and screwing anything that washes up." She gives my Dad a disapproving look, and then returns her death stare my way. "Keep it in your pants."

Bryan slumps next to me like he's been shot. There's more coming, we both know it, and that's going to be the worst part. However, Mom doesn't say it right then. She sips her coffee and turns her fangs on Pete and Sean. "And you two—where were you when all this was going on?" Peter tries to talk, but Mom cuts him off. "You expect to keep your job when you show up in the papers with a stripper on your lap? And you," all her venom is directed at Sean, "you know better than this. You should have kept it from happening. You're not the man I thought you were, Sean."

Sean stares at her, expressionless. He doesn't apologize or hang his head the way the rest of us do. No, he looks at her like she just commented on the weather. "Likewise, Mother."

Holy fuck. He did not just say that. Me, Peter, Sidney and Bryan lean forward. We can't help it. Somehow we ended up in the front row seats to the apocalypse. The two of them—Mom and Sean—are so alike, but neither of them sees it, and they'll both fight to the death.

Mother's lips twist into a smile that looks utterly amused. "You think I'm not pulling my weight? Ask me what I was doing last night while the four of you had nipples in your faces?" She glances at Sidney, "Sorry for being so crass dear, but I doubt it offends someone of your stature anyway." Sidney doesn't respond. Instead, Peter's hand covers hers and pins it to the table. It's a silent plea for her to keep her mouth closed. But, Mom isn't watching, or doesn't care—probably the latter—and turns her venom back to Sean. "Ask me, Sean. Ask me where all the pictures of you and Peter are, and why not a single one was published?"

"Buying pictures won't hide what happened there," Sean says flatly.

"A picture is more damning than anything else. It's physical proof that you were doing something you should not have done. The four of you smear the Ferro name, and waste the influence you were given—"

Sean laughs, like he's happy, even though he's angrier than I've seen him in a long time. "I waste nothing—not time, not money, not stature, and certainly not my morning by sitting here with company as rancid as you. Enjoy your breakfast, Mother." Sean stands and leaves before another word is said, which leaves the rest of us as open targets.

If she's hurt, Mother doesn't show it. She ignores Dad and eats in silence. When she leaves, a hand smacks the back of my head. When I turn, Sidney's standing behind me, her face level with mine. "If you ever drop a naked girl in Peter's lap again, I'll cut off your balls and hang them on my Christmas tree. Is that clear enough for you?"

Bryan stifles a laugh, but Peter jabs his ribs with his elbow anyway, then stands and takes Sidney's hand. "Crystal clear. He gets it. Come on, Sid." But she pulls away.

"No, he doesn't get it! The wedding is three weeks away and he's acting like a goddamn child! I don't want this Peter. I don't want your name dragged through the mud. I don't want your mother lording it over you whenever you mess up, and I don't want your little brother making things worse when they're already hard enough." Sidney's angry eyes are burning holes into the side of my face. "What were you thinking? You gave him an education and a job, and then threw strippers and paparazzi at him? Tell me how that was supposed to work out, Jonathan, because I don't see it."

"It's what guys normally do—" I try to apologize, but she won't let me.

"Yeah, but you guys aren't normal. Everyone is looking at you, watching you, and hoping to God that you screw up so they have a story to run in tomorrow's paper! Jon, I care about you, I really do, but you can't keep doing stuff like this." Sidney's voice shakes and I know there are tears on her face. I don't look at her. I can't.

Peter pulls her from the room and I slink down in my chair, feeling like a piece of shit.

CHAPTER 26

CASSIE

The week passes quietly, for which I'm grateful. If Mark had showed up I'd have to pick up everything and move again, and I'm sick of moving. This is the longest I've been able to stay anywhere and it's nice. Well, for the most part it's nice. I look down at my bra and panty set, wishing that I didn't have to do this. I was so close, so fucking close to getting what I wanted. I had the perfect guy, the nice little house with a new car in the driveway, and then it all went to hell.

I'm not naïve anymore, I know I never had any of that stuff, but the illusion was nice while it lasted. Now, every moment is hell. If a creditor isn't hounding me for cash, then the repo guy is chasing me, trying to get my car, which is currently hidden in Mrs. McKinzey's garage. The sad part is that the mountain of debt isn't even mine, it's Mark's. I didn't do this, but I'm the one paying for it. I'm a college dropout, hiding in the 'hood, biding my time, so that I can earn enough money to get a second chance at life. Assuming I can avoid Mark in the meantime.

"Cassie, you're on stage next. Get out here!" I'm not Bruce's favorite person after last weekend, but he doesn't blame me. The boss found out, of course. The pictures in the paper made it clear that someone grabbed me, a Ferro, and that Bruce didn't or couldn't do his job. He would have been fired if I didn't speak up, but Bruce doesn't know that. I went to Jeff's office alone and explained to the owner that Bruce wasn't to blame. Jeff said I didn't get it, and still planned on firing his ass, so I said I'd pay Bruce's salary to give him another chance. The guy might be a thug, but he has a kid at home. I can't be the reason why he got fired, and if I wasn't the girl stripping that night, none of it would have happened.

The week is almost over. Maybe it was stupid, especially since Bruce has no idea who's paying his wages this week, but I can't be the reason someone falls apart. I already was once, and the mess I saw in Jon Ferro's eyes last weekend made me sick. I caused it, I know I did.

Yanking my garters in place, I dust myself with some glitter and head out to the stage. My entire outfit is cotton candy pink. It matches the pink room, the one spot in the club that isn't filled with wall to wall guys. There's usually a handful of men in there, because they are the only ones who can afford it. I feel better about taking my clothes off since I'll never see them again, and there aren't as many of them. Guys like that don't hang out at places like this. They tend to be the CEO types that had an argument with their perfect wife. They blow off steam down here, and then disappear again.

I enter the room from backstage and peer through the pale pink curtain. The entire area is champagne pink, with bits of sparkle. It looks hideous with the lights all the way up, but with flickering candlelight and a single spotlight on me, it has a serene feel. The music starts and I strut out on stage, moving my body to the music, not paying attention to who's out there. I never look at their faces. My eyes don't even connect with their bodies, usually gazing just above their heads. It makes it less real, like they aren't real people and I'm not really doing this. Eye contact shatters the illusion.