Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I slammed my fist onto the top of my bedroom cabinet, leaving a dent beside another where I’d slammed my fist before.

What was wrong with me? She was just some rich, high-society bitch. Some uppity princess who thought herself more worldly and humble than she was. Why did I care what she thought?

Sure, she’d probably make a fun lay, but I’d already had a ton of those. Those exciting nights and empty mornings, the same nothing-faced girls slipping out the door and away. Yeah, I’d had enough of those.

Who gave a damn about it anyway? About any of this? It was just a stupid job—a big one, but just a job. That was all. Just a few more hours and I’d be free of her.

My stomach growled. I should’ve gotten food supplies before I’d decided to take a hostage. Still, there were some cheese balls downstairs. Just because I was down there didn’t mean I had to talk to her.

Once downstairs, I found the bag of cheese balls emptier than I remembered. I headed for the stairs without a word, however. The skinny little rich girl probably hadn’t had a non-organic snack since she could talk.

“Your hand…”

“What?”

Alice had risen, and she took my hand in hers.

I looked down and was surprised to see a splinter embedded in it, blood trickling out of the gash.

Ripping my hand away, I backed up a few steps.

“It’s nothing.”

But Alice’s face was unchanged. She looked as concerned as ever.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” she said softly.

Pip let out a small bark of support.

“Listen…” Alice took the snack bag and set it on the floor. Then she took my hand in hers. “I’m sorry about before. I…it’s just been a tough day. This wedding, my life—it isn’t the fairy tale it seems, okay? And you just…you got me at a bad time.”

I said nothing.

“Can I just take the splinter out, please?” she asked.

I said nothing and let her lead me upstairs to the bathroom.

Once there, she turned to me and asked, “Do you have any tweezers?”

I laughed.

“You kidding me? What kind of place do you think this is?”

She frowned, and I opened the cupboard under the sink.

“Wait a sec. Let me just check the basket.”

I peered into the little pink plastic container of all things girly—all of my nighttime visitors’ left behind belongings. There were some hair ties and a brush, some toothbrushes, a thong, a bra, and, sure enough, a pair of tweezers.

“Here ya go,” I said, handing her the metal thing.

“I won’t ask,” she said, leaning in with the tweezers. “Now, this is gonna—”

I roared as hot fire enveloped my palm.

“Hurt,” Alice said, dangling the bloody splinter before me victoriously. Then she pressed a wad of toilet paper to my palm.

“Goddam,” I swore, sitting on the bathroom floor.

“You good?” Alice asked, sitting beside me.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “No bandages, so I’ll have to press on it till it stops.”

“Okay. I hope it doesn’t hurt too much,” she said, actually sounding like she meant it. When I cast her a sidelong look, her face said she meant it, too.

“You don’t have to stay here,” I said, and her face fell.

In a cold voice, she said “okay” and walked out the door.

I glared at the spot where she’d been sitting. No point in getting sentimental over some sneaky bitch who was just being nice to me so she could escape or catch me off guard.

A few minutes later when I went downstairs, she and Pip were back on the couch, the bag of cheese balls tucked between them. She was feeding one to Pip one with orange-dyed fingers, although her delighted smile fell at the sight of me.

I snatched the bag away.

“Sorry,” she said.

Handing it back to her, I waved my hand.

“Don’t sweat it, princess.” I sat beside her. “Just didn’t peg you for…”

Alice grinned.

“Someone who eats cheese balls?”

Grabbing one, I poked her nose with it and then tossed it into my mouth.

“Well, yeah. Someone who eats anything that has more than 5 calories, actually.”

To this, Alice grabbed a handful of the bright orange poofs and threw them into her mouth. As her chipmunk cheeks struggled to chew their giant load, she mumbled, “I’ll have you know that the Pizza Palace guys down the street from my apartment know me by name by now.”

We laughed, and after a prodigious amount of chewing and a big swallow, Alice reached into the bag. As she did, however, her wrist brushed the edge of the bag, and she jerked back, wincing.

I glanced at the still-red welts on her wrists.

“I don’t have any Tylenol, but I’ve got bourbon.” To her suspicious glance, I added, “For the pain.”

Her forehead crinkled with irritation. Then she flopped her whole body back into the couch, almost making herself disappear into the cushions.

“Oh, all right,” she said, casting me a weary look. “After the day I’ve just had, I could sure use a drink.”

I went over to the cupboard and got out two tall glasses and my newly replenished bottle, a store brand knockoff that I loved.

I plopped on the floor in front of the couch, and at the sight of the name on the bottle, Alice started giggling.

“Jake Daniels—seriously?”

“What? What’s wrong with a knockoff whiskey when it’s so well named?”

We grinned at each other, and I poured her a drink.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” she said with a devilish grin. Then she drank half the glass in one gulp.

“Wow. Looks like you really needed that thing,” I said approvingly before taking a deep drink of my own.

Drinking the rest of hers in another long gulp, Alice nodded.

“You have no idea.”

“Yeah. I guess having my perfect wedding ruined would be a tad upsetting,” I said, and Alice’s face darkened.

“To be honest, being kidnapped isn’t turning out to be much worse than if the wedding had gone through.”

I stared at her, her lowered lids already shifting back to the bourbon and her lower lip stuck out in a pout. She was being serious.

“Why marry the guy then?”

Staring into the emptiness of her glass, she spoke to it. “It’s stupid.”

I poured her more bourbon.

“We’re not exactly short on time here.”

Another big gulp, then: “He was the first really good catch I went out with. I don’t know, I just kept hearing about how lucky I was, how happy I must have been to be with him, and I started believing it myself.”

As I poured myself another glass, I nodded.

“You’re right. That is stupid.”

Her blue eyes narrowed. God, they were so blue, they almost looked like they were contacts. A mesmerizing blue—that was what it was.

After gulping down the rest of the bourbon, she said, “Well, that’s not all. It’s about my inheritance. When I wanted to postpone the wedding, Papa threatened me, said he’d take it away.”

Now I laughed outright.

“So it’s about money. Typical. I should’ve known. With you people, it’s always about money.”

Alice rose.

“Fuck you,” she said, her eyes so blue now that they didn’t look real.

“You know it’s true.”

She shook her head so hard that a piece of hair fell out of her bun.

“Did you ask me what the money was for?”

I gaped at her, at her narrowed cyan-blue eyes, her trembling lips, her beet-red cheeks. It was strange seeing her like this. Rich people didn’t have feelings like the rest of us. Or at least that was what I’d always figured. They only got riled up if their money was being taken.

“Did you ask me what the money was for?” she repeated, her voice a quiet hiss.

Taking a swig of the bourbon straight from the bottle, I patted her face and asked, “What was the money for?”

She shoved my hand away, stood back, and proclaimed, “Setting up a non-profit.”

Now it was my turn to stand up.

“Bullshit.”

She was shaking her head, looking up at me as furiously as ever. She was a little fireball of blue eyes and bared teeth.

“It’s been my dream since I was a kid—helping people. I went to Africa, to Sierra Leone, to help with local projects. And that’s what I’m going to do with it: build my own foundation. Help people.”

As I scrutinized her face, her haughtily irate expression didn’t shift. Shit, the girl was actually telling the truth.

“Sorry,” I said, sitting down.

Alice didn’t move.

“Looks like us rich people aren’t the only ones who have a problem making unfounded assumptions.”

I took another swig of the bourbon and then extended it to her.

“Maybe.”

She grabbed it, took a big swig herself, and then settled back beside me. Our legs were touching from top to bottom, and if her rosy face and sudden anger were any indication, she was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, turning to her.

She was staring at me with strange eyes. They looked angry and defiant, and yet sad and understanding. As if, somehow, right then she was thinking the exact same thing I was: how tragic and useless it was to feel this connected to someone so different, someone I could never see after this.

As I stared into those deep, sea-blue eyes and tucked a mahogany strand of hair behind her ear, I started to wonder if I could really be starting to care about this girl.

When Alice handed me the bourbon bottle, her arm brushed against my chest. Our eyes locked, and then hers flicked to my lips.

Yes, we were definitely thinking the same thing, for better or for worse.

I got up and grumbled “bathroom” as I headed upstairs to escape.

Goddam, I had to be careful, or I was going to ruin everything.