I TUGGED AT THE SKIN of my wrist as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. It barely stretched, it was so taut over the flesh beneath it, but it still soothed me. Almost as if it slowed the blood pumping vigorously toward my fingers. I wasn’t sure where I learned it or when it’d become a habit rather than an occasional thing, but I’d been doing it for as long as I could remember all the same.
Red lipstick still visible and not on my teeth? Check.
Hair okay? Check.
Sexy yet classic black cocktail dress still in place and not flashing an inadvertent nipple? Check.
From the outside, I was pressed, primed, and ready to go.
But on the inside? I was fighting the urge to flee this mansion and buy a one-way ticket to Mexico.
Tonight was my first party as a cocktail waitress officially employed by Wonderland, and I couldn’t shake my nerves. Cripes, I’d been dealing with this constant nervous tension rolling around inside my body since Matt had offered me a permanent position a few days ago. It’d been a short and to the point kind of conversation via text, but I was finding that Matt Hadder wasn’t the type of man to beat around the bush. He might have been sexy and charming as hell, but he most certainly didn’t waste his time with small talk and common pleasantries.
Basically, he’d gotten straight to the point, and I’d had a knee-jerk reaction of yes. The word had flowed from my fingers before my brain could even process what was happening.
And now, here I stood, staring at myself in the reflection of a mirror inside of a marble and gold-plated bathroom. I clenched my trembling hands to try to make them stop. When they didn’t, I stared at the ceiling and then myself, and then I ran that mindless circuit again.
I felt like the outcome of tonight could mean the difference between Louboutins and ramen. The irony was, it was all occurring inside what had to be an over thirty-thousand-square-foot estate in affluent Bel Air. The owner: Ari Simon—owner of Hollywood’s biggest film production companies, along with a dozen other profitable companies within the entertainment industry. The reason for the party: charity.
Some of the country’s wealthiest had all gathered inside this mansion tonight to raise money for the greater good—specifically the poverty-stricken of the world under the umbrella of various charitable organizations, including one that aided Syrian refugees.
It all looked good on paper, but if this party resembled anything like the first Wonderland party I’d attended, it was safe to say what lay beneath the surface would make most average people question society’s moral compass.
But I had a job to do, one that I was getting paid very generously for, and obviously, one that was providing much-needed money.
I wasn’t sure what was motivating me to continue to follow this unknown path down the circle of crazy that was Wonderland, Inc. Curiosity? Desperation? The instant answer was yes, a little bit of both.
The age-old saying was true. Desperate times did call for desperate measures.
Obviously, I wasn’t in the financial position to turn my back on the opportunity Matt Hadder had bestowed. It was easy to overlook things—drugs, prostitutes, illegal activity—when life had already handed you a plate full of crap.
But when it came to my curiosity? Well, I just prayed that other age-old saying about curiosity and cats wasn’t true.
I had no idea how long I’d been holed up in this bathroom, but I knew if I stayed any longer, I’d be running the risk of it being way too long. It was time to put on my big-girl panties and attempt to navigate the confusing, mysterious world that was Wonderland, Inc.
With a deep breath and one last glance in the mirror, I strode out of the bathroom on my sky-high black stilettos and headed toward my assigned station—the bar on the first floor. And believe it or not, it was an actual bar inside the mansion. One of five, to be exact.
I honestly didn’t know why Ari Simon needed five bars inside of his home, but it wasn’t like my brain could even comprehend the kind of money that man had in his bank account, so I didn’t try.
“You the new girl?” A bleach-blond woman with a southern accent asked once I stepped behind the large mahogany bar.
I figured that was me, so I nodded.
“Perfect,” she said, and her bright pink lips crested into a sugary-sweet smile. “Matt gave me specific instructions to make sure you were all settled before I headed downstairs. Everything going good, sugar?”
Headed downstairs? What was downstairs? I’d only managed to see the first and second floors of this place, and I hadn’t even considered there was a downstairs. Sweet Lucifer.
Remember, Alex? Curiosity killed the cat…
I cringed at the thought, but I quickly schooled my face into a small smile. “Uh…yeah… Everything is fine.”
“The tall blond on the terrace would like a scotch on the rocks,” she instructed and nodded toward where a twentysomething movie star—and, according to gossip rags, “heartthrob”—sat comfortably on the big outdoor couch, while what looked like the rest of Hollywood chatted around him.
“Okay,” I muttered and pulled a glass from the cabinet and a bottle of scotch that looked so expensive I feared the mere idea of dropping it.
“Don’t be nervous, sugar,” the woman whispered toward me as she leaned her hip against the counter.
“I’m not nervous,” I lied.
Obviously, I was nervous. This was my first official Wonderland party, and I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was doing or how I got here.
In a matter of two weeks, I’d worn a rabbit costume to a rich kid’s birthday party and somehow met the illustrious Matt Hadder. In my fucking underwear, mind you.
Then my life had taken a nonsensical path down a road filled with money in my bank account, an apartment that definitely wasn’t within my budget, and a job where the famous people I saw splashed across the tabloids in the checkout line of the grocery store were standing in the same room as me. Take now, for instance, Hugo Lariot—the current big thing in action movies—standing no more than fifty feet away, chatting with a group of supermodels and drinking champagne.
I felt like I was living someone else’s life or having an out-of-body experience.
Or maybe I’d hit my head on something and I was actually in a coma?
I mean, was this what people in comas thought about? Working at parties for wealthy clients where everything wasn’t really as it appeared?
That seemed highly doubtful.
“Those shaking hands of yours can barely pour that liquor without spilling it,” she whispered with a knowing smile. “You’re nervous. Don’t worry. I was nervous during my first party, too. Although it had more to do with the fact that I was hardly a day over twenty and had to get naked in front of strangers.”
I stopped in my tracks and looked up at her. “You’re a stripper?”
She laughed. “Oh, no, sugar. I was one of Wonderland’s pleasure girls.”
Pleasure girls?
“Like a…” I paused and glanced around the room before whispering toward her, “hooker?”
She winked. “Yeah, kind of like that. Well, at least, that’s what I used to do.”
“But you don’t do that anymore?”
“I’m in retirement.” She tapped her red-painted nails mindlessly across the ornate bar, and I marveled in an attempt to reconcile her young features and the fact that she was retired. She can’t be over thirty. “I only oversee the girls and make sure things are running smooth now. Clients are satisfied. That sort of thing. I’m Jessie Cat, by the way,” she added and held out her hand, a big gold bracelet spanning the skin of her arm from wrist to nearly elbow.
Cripes, that’s a lot of gold.
I shook it. “I’m Alex.”
“A little advice, honey?”
I raised my eyebrows. Maybe on a regular day I wouldn’t go to a retired hooker named Jessie Cat for my lists of dos and don’ts, but this was hardly the time to be picky.
“I’m all ears.”
“Don’t waste your time questioning things. It’s an endless loop of things you’ll probably never know. Just enjoy the fact that you’re making more money here than you could working some nine-to-five. Matt’s a good man. Demanding, sometimes brutal, but he’s a good man. And when you work for him, you’ll want for nothing.”
Brutal? That doesn’t sound good.
“Uh…thanks.” I nodded and finished pouring the scotch. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Once I set the bottle on the bar, she wrapped her arm around my shoulder and hugged me to her side. “I like you, Alex. I think we’re going to be good friends.”
Wonderful. My first real friend since I’d moved to LA was a retired hooker named Jessie Cat. Aunt Delores would be so proud.
Three hours into the party, and I’d served more alcohol than I had during an eight-hour shift on a Friday night at Maloney’s Pub. One thing was apparent: rich people liked their alcohol. They also appeared to enjoy drugs as well, but I was doing my best not to see the shady shit going on behind the scenes of this party.
Or should I call it a charity function?
It was a bit of a conundrum, to be honest.
Everyone here had attended under the pretense of a good cause, but while raising money for said good cause, they were engaging in behavior that the eyes of the law would call illegal.
At least, that’s what I’d thought the eyes of the law would call it.
Now, I wasn’t so sure. Especially since, an hour ago, I’d realized the man sitting across from Ari Simon smoking a cigar like he was Pablo Escobar had the exact same face as the man I’d seen two weeks ago on the Channel 9 News with the title Chief of Police below him.
It appeared that when it came to Wonderland, Inc., the line that separated good and bad was extremely distorted. Or, hell, maybe it wasn’t even there at all.
“You look deep in thought.”
I glanced up to find Matt standing on the other side of the bar, staring back at me.
“I do?” I asked because, honestly, I didn’t really know what else to say in that moment. It felt like it would’ve been in bad taste to tell him the truth of my thoughts.
“You’re confused,” he stated. “You don’t know what to make of all of this.”
I stared at him with wide, obvious eyes. So much for keeping my feelings to myself.
“It’s okay to admit,” he reassured easily, a little grin highlighting the softer-than-usual line of his jaw.
I averted my eyes and stared down at my fiddling fingers, nearly halfway done destroying the label of an empty bottle of Cristal.
“I guess I don’t really understand it,” I muttered, even though I really wanted to say, I don’t understand how all of these people in this room—some of whom are idols and heroes to children across the country—are here to raise money for a charitable cause, and yet, it doesn’t really appear it’s their real reason for being here. I mean, I just saw a professional athlete—who was recently named MVP of the championship game—walk downstairs with Jessie Cat and two of Wonderland’s pleasure girls! Jesus Christ, what is happening?
“Humans are interesting creatures,” he said quietly. “Even the ones with the best intentions can’t shake their greedy, selfish desires. And when you add wealth into the mix, the gluttony is exponential. That doesn’t make them bad people. It just makes them human.”
I looked up to meet his eyes, meaning only to study what expression of his would accompany such a patient explanation, but the sarcastic words left my mouth unexpectedly before I could stop them. “So, if a bus full of nuns stops by tonight to enjoy a night of debauchery, I shouldn’t be surprised?”
He cracked a smile. “You’ve got a smart wit, little Alex.”
“Are you calling me a smartass?”
“I’m pretty sure I didn’t say anything about your ass.” He winked. “Although, I could give some insight if you wish.”
Was he flirting with me? And if he was, why was I smiling about it?
Matt stepped behind the bar, and his large frame towered over mine as he whispered into my ear, “The real money is made behind the veil, Alex. And tonight, charitable cause is the veil.”
His words crashed into my mind like a train. I looked up to meet his eyes, to dig deeper into the meaning, but his gaze remained irritatingly neutral. Somehow, someway, the man had an innate way of answering my questions without my actually voicing them out loud. It was like he had a direct line into my thoughts. The idea was quite terrifying. And oddly enough, only made me want to know him more.
As he headed back into the mix of the party, Matt added over his shoulder, “Once you refill the scotch and check on the rest of the group up here, bring two bottles of champagne downstairs for Mr. Simon. Jessie Cat will show you where to go with it.”
I nodded and watched his movements as he made his way through the crowd, shaking hands with familiar, famous faces, and walking confidently toward the spiral staircase that led toward the unknown.
Downstairs.
I still had no fucking clue what was down there.
But it looked like I was about to find out.