warm summer night, paid their admission tickets for the wheel, climbed into one of the yellow cabs, and gone spinning up into the night. It was fantastic. The night was crystalline, and a bright full moon hung in the west like a beacon of adventure. Around and around they went—two, three, four trips on the wheel, Caine happily assuring the operator that he was good for the fare. Then he slipped the guy an extra twenty dollars.
“That’s nice of you,” Anna noted. “I have an ulterior motive.”
Caine offered no more information than that, but Anna’s curiosity was satisfied five minutes later, when the wheel slowed as they reached the top and then stopped dead.
“You paid him for this.”
“Guilty as charged. Check out the view.” Caine put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around so that they could look east, toward the city. It shone like a constellation in the night, streams of car headlights moving in all directions and up above, Anna could see the lights of the planes as they stacked up to land at LAX.
“It’s . . . it’s like a dream.” Anna found herself thinking of Champagne and wondering whether she’d ever had a guy take her to this wheel, then tip the operator so that the cab would stay perched high in the sky.
“What are you thinking about?” Caine asked softly.
“This girl I met yesterday. Funny name. Champagne. She’s in the at-risk girls’ program. I guess she begged to help out with the fashion show, and they let her.”
“What about her?”
“Just . . . I don’t even know her, but the woman who runs the fashion show basically accused her of theft, based on no evidence. She was so patronizing, and this girl seemed so sweet. . . .”
“Fill me in. I’m not tracking.”
Anna explained what Virginia had said about Champagne stealing Martin Rittenhouse’s gown, even though she didn’t have any proof at all. He whistled gruffly. “That sucks. Sometimes people with money act like not having it is the result of a character defect. Such patronizing bullshit.”
Anna agreed, and found Caine’s reaction so close to her own that she impetuously leaned over and kissed him, the first time she’d ever done such a thing in her life.
The kiss lasted until the wheel started moving again. And then for a while longer after that. It turned out to be both fun and educational. Anna learned in thirty seconds that Ben wasn’t the only great kisser in L.A.
Pre-Post-Hot
C ammie found herself that night in an uncharacteristic position. She literally had nothing to do. Dee was off with Jack doing whatever Dee and Jack did. Ditto Sam and Eduardo, who were crashing at Eduardo’s condo on the Wilshire corridor.
She couldn’t even call Adam. He and his parents had gone on a three-day canoe trip and left their cell phones behind. Unimaginable, but true. Nor were any of her other usual suspects available. Krishna and Skye weren’t due back from London until Sunday, while Ashleigh and Damian were slumming at Hedonism III in Jamaica.
So Cammie decided to go out by herself. Maybe she’d just check out Trieste, where Ben still worked. Even after all the press coverage it had received the month before—coverage that normally turned a hot club into burnt toast—Trieste remained next to impossible to get into, with Jacinda Barrett reportedly having to wait forty-five minutes to be admitted and Jessica never making it to within spitting distance of the VIP section.
Of course, the best reason to crash Trieste was Ben Birnbaum. Despite being with Adam, the truth was that Cammie still hadn’t gotten over getting dumped by Ben at the end of her junior year. Adam brought out the good in her. Ben brought out the bad. Good was often good. Bad was sometimes so much better.
She put on a new outfit she’d found at Fred Segal—a D&G ivory miniskirt and a Robert Graham magenta brocade jacket that ended four inches above the top of the skirt. She did her makeup, spritzed her strawberry blond curls,
“That’s nice of you,” Anna noted. “I have an ulterior motive.”
Caine offered no more information than that, but Anna’s curiosity was satisfied five minutes later, when the wheel slowed as they reached the top and then stopped dead.
“You paid him for this.”
“Guilty as charged. Check out the view.” Caine put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around so that they could look east, toward the city. It shone like a constellation in the night, streams of car headlights moving in all directions and up above, Anna could see the lights of the planes as they stacked up to land at LAX.
“It’s . . . it’s like a dream.” Anna found herself thinking of Champagne and wondering whether she’d ever had a guy take her to this wheel, then tip the operator so that the cab would stay perched high in the sky.
“What are you thinking about?” Caine asked softly.
“This girl I met yesterday. Funny name. Champagne. She’s in the at-risk girls’ program. I guess she begged to help out with the fashion show, and they let her.”
“What about her?”
“Just . . . I don’t even know her, but the woman who runs the fashion show basically accused her of theft, based on no evidence. She was so patronizing, and this girl seemed so sweet. . . .”
“Fill me in. I’m not tracking.”
Anna explained what Virginia had said about Champagne stealing Martin Rittenhouse’s gown, even though she didn’t have any proof at all. He whistled gruffly. “That sucks. Sometimes people with money act like not having it is the result of a character defect. Such patronizing bullshit.”
Anna agreed, and found Caine’s reaction so close to her own that she impetuously leaned over and kissed him, the first time she’d ever done such a thing in her life.
The kiss lasted until the wheel started moving again. And then for a while longer after that. It turned out to be both fun and educational. Anna learned in thirty seconds that Ben wasn’t the only great kisser in L.A.
Pre-Post-Hot
C ammie found herself that night in an uncharacteristic position. She literally had nothing to do. Dee was off with Jack doing whatever Dee and Jack did. Ditto Sam and Eduardo, who were crashing at Eduardo’s condo on the Wilshire corridor.
She couldn’t even call Adam. He and his parents had gone on a three-day canoe trip and left their cell phones behind. Unimaginable, but true. Nor were any of her other usual suspects available. Krishna and Skye weren’t due back from London until Sunday, while Ashleigh and Damian were slumming at Hedonism III in Jamaica.
So Cammie decided to go out by herself. Maybe she’d just check out Trieste, where Ben still worked. Even after all the press coverage it had received the month before—coverage that normally turned a hot club into burnt toast—Trieste remained next to impossible to get into, with Jacinda Barrett reportedly having to wait forty-five minutes to be admitted and Jessica never making it to within spitting distance of the VIP section.
Of course, the best reason to crash Trieste was Ben Birnbaum. Despite being with Adam, the truth was that Cammie still hadn’t gotten over getting dumped by Ben at the end of her junior year. Adam brought out the good in her. Ben brought out the bad. Good was often good. Bad was sometimes so much better.
She put on a new outfit she’d found at Fred Segal—a D&G ivory miniskirt and a Robert Graham magenta brocade jacket that ended four inches above the top of the skirt. She did her makeup, spritzed her strawberry blond curls,
Similar Books
