The Downfall of a Good Girl. Kimberly Lang
Читать онлайн книгу.
you failed Psych 101, so please don’t try to analyze me. Secondly, we don’t live in a sitcom. And third, I’m really, really tired of people shoving Connor in my face and telling me to like him. That’s just annoying and it makes me like him even less.”
“That’s hardly his fault.”
Maybe it was the wine, the late hour or just the exhaustion, but Vivi finally sighed. “Marie Lester.”
Lorelei looked confused until she placed the name. “What’s Marie got to do with it?”
“He used me to get to her.”
“What?”
Vivi rubbed a hand over her face. This was why she didn’t want to talk about it. “You know how sheltered and sweet Marie was, right?” At Lorelei’s nod, she continued, “That’s why her parents sent her to St. Katharine’s. New Orleans is this big bad sin city, and they figured she’d be safe there.”
“And?”
“Junior year, Connor’s friend Reg asked Marie out and she said no. She considered them a bunch of hell-raisers, and she was too good for that. Connor took that as some kind of challenge and a chance to show up Reg.”
“Okay…but still not really following you.”
She took a big gulp of wine. “Well, Marie and I were lab partners and her parents just loved me, you know.”
“Of course.”
“So Connor started hanging around me, being nice and all, in order to make himself look better to Marie.”
Lorelei nodded. “Because if you said he was an okay guy then Marie might change her mind?”
“Exactly.”
“So that’s why Connor started hanging around our house more.”
“He was just using me to get to her. And to top it all off he didn’t really like her. He just wanted to prove he could get Marie when his friend had failed.”
“It’s a jerk move, but really…” Vivi shot a look at her and Lorelei trailed off. “Oh. You thought he was interested in you. Ouch. That’s why you slapped him at your coronation.”
The hurt and humiliation she’d felt at seventeen might have been dulled by time, but her twenty-eight-year-old self remembered the blow to her ego and pride. She nodded.
Lorelei rolled her eyes. “That was years ago. Teenage crap. I don’t know a nice way to say this, but…get over it.”
“He lied to me, used me, hurt me and made me an unwilling accomplice in his quest to use Marie in order to one-up one of his friends. I don’t care if it was teenage crap. He was wrong. And, even worse, I should have known better. Even after years of his crap I fell for it.”
“And you can’t just let it go?” Lorelei shook her head. “Wow, Vivi. That’s really mature.”
“This from the girl who is still mad at Steve Milner for cheating on her.”
“He left me at prom to go have sex with another girl!”
“So call me when you’re over that and we’ll talk again about teenage crap I need to get over.”
Lorelei’s lips pressed into a thin line. Vivi had made her point.
“Even if I wanted to let that slide, I haven’t really seen anything in the intervening years to convince me that Connor isn’t still an arrogant, self-centered man-child. If anything, his fame has only fueled it. And since Connor is still holding on to his preadolescent grudges against me, I’m not too worried about maturity.”
It was Lorelei’s turn to rub her eyes. “I think I need more wine for this to make any sense at all.”
Vivi patted her sister’s knee. “Look at it from a different perspective. Animosity will add interest to the competition. If Connor and I suddenly bury the hatchet and become best buddies, people will be disappointed. And I’d hate to deny Bon Argent the opportunity to exploit this for a good cause’s gain.”
Lorelei sighed. “I hate it when the words you say sound perfectly reasonable even though it’s actually crazy talk. How do you even manage that?”
“It’s a gift.” Vivi looked down and noticed she was shedding glitter on the sofa cushions. The glitter reminded her of her purpose, and her personal problems with Connor weren’t it. “So you’ve got my back? I need all the help I can get.”
Lorelei nodded. “Blood—however crazy that blood is—is thicker than water, so I’ll be as saintly as possible for the duration of your reign. I await my marching orders.”
“Good.” Vivi grabbed one of the bags and dug inside for a T-shirt. “Welcome to Team Saint.”
Lorelei unfolded the powder-blue shirt and scowled at the angel wings emblazoned across the back. “Do I really have to wear this?”
“Yep. Every minute you can. And your first assignment is Tuesday. We’re going to the lower Ninth Ward for cleanup detail.”
The scowl morphed into horror. “I didn’t realize you meant for me to do manual labor.”
“It’s good for the soul, honey, if bad for your manicure.”
“I think I might have to work on Tuesday,” she grumbled.
“I think it’s safe to assume that Daddy will give you the time off.”
“Fine.” Lorelei looked at the shirt again, distaste written across her face. “This is not in my color palette. What color are the shirts for Connor’s team?”
“Don’t even joke about that. I’m already at a great disadvantage without my sister defecting to the dark side.”
“Okay, here’s the thing, Vivi. It’s ridiculous, but I’ll back off. However, I’m not going to listen to you moan about Connor for the next four weeks. It’ll ruin my whole Mardi Gras.”
Vivi just wished someone had taken that into consideration before they’d stuck her with Connor for the next month. The rest of the city may be planning on laissez le bons temps rouler, but her temps weren’t looking very bon at the moment.
Connor spent most of Sunday morning and part of the afternoon on the phone with his manager and his agent, but the chore didn’t aggravate him as much when he could sit on a balcony overlooking Royal Street with a café au lait and real beignets. The third-floor apartment had been sitting empty while Gabe was in Italy, and Connor appreciated the solitude it offered while still being in the heart of the French Quarter. The street musician below his balcony displayed more enthusiasm than talent, but it was as much a sound of home as the clop-clop and jingle of the mule-drawn carriages and the shouts of the tour guides leading groups down the street.
Sitting here in the winter sunshine, his feet propped up on the wrought-iron rail with nothing to do except let his mind wander…bliss. Until this moment he hadn’t realized how stressed he’d been.
Even the doctor’s orders to rest his hands and wrists seemed less onerous and restrictive today. The piano wasn’t calling him, and the only workout his hands were getting involved lifting his coffee cup to his mouth repeatedly. Even after hours on the phone his head felt clear, and he could feel his muscles relaxing and the pain receding—no pharmaceutical intervention necessary.
Yep, bliss. He might just sit here all day and attempt absolutely nothing more strenuous than a solid nap.
His mother was a bit irritated that he’d chosen to stay in a friend’s apartment instead of his childhood home, but this was a high-profile visit, and he didn’t want photographers or fans staking out his parents’ house and trampling Mom’s flowers. This was just easier.
He wasn’t the only celebrity to call New