On the Avenue Read online

  “Going three times,” Lex trilled. “In five seconds the deal's off—”

  “Okay,” Lupe cut in. “I'll do it. I'll tell your father you're asleep when he calls.”

  Lex smiled broadly. She threw her arms around the small woman and hugged her tightly. “Monday after school I'll pick up the sweater. Then we can go to Barney's for shoes! Just you and me!”

  Lupe nodded guiltily, then made the sign of the cross.

  Scurrying from the library, Lex flew through the living room, past the dining room, and back into the kitchen. She went into the small pantry and clapped her hands vigorously. “Where are you, honey?” she called out. “It's time to go.”

  Champagne, her tiny teacup Chihuahua, came prancing out of his favorite corner. He was an adorable dog, with closely cropped well-groomed golden hair. A dark brown collar wrapped his little neck, and from it hung a gold charm in the shape of a champagne flute. He stared up at Lex and barked.

  She bent down and scooped him into the crook of her right arm. Then she headed for the foyer, where her purse sat on an oval table. Stealing a final glance in the mirror by the front door, she bolted out of the apartment and into the waiting elevator. The floors dinged one by one as she and Champagne descended. The Hamilton apartment was, of course, the penthouse at 974 Fifth Avenue. The prewar building was beautiful, but as far as Lex was concerned, it retained too much of its antiquated charm. The carpet in the elevator was a faded red. Many of the numbered buttons had smudged into shapeless black lines. And it took nearly a minute to reach the ground floor.

  She hurried out into the lobby. She could already feel the electric pulse of the streets and hear the controlled chaos of the traffic. Her heart fluttering, she spotted the doorman, Steven Hillby, standing at his usual post by the reception desk. Tall and big-boned, he was the official mayor of 974 Fifth Avenue. He knew everything about everybody.

  “Oh no you don't,” he said when he saw Lex striding toward him. “A little birdy named Trevor Hamilton told me you were supposed to spend the night inside.” He stared down at her with a smug expression.

  Without so much as arguing, Lex popped open her purse, took out her favorite pair of Oliver Peoples sunglasses, and slipped them on. Then she dunked into the purse a second time and withdrew a crisp hundred-dollar bill from the bulging side pocket. She held it out to Steven. “Cut the bullshit,” she said with a playful smile. “Now go on out there and rev up the engines.”

  Steven snatched the bill from her fingers and held open the doors for her. “This way, ma'am.” His tone was suddenly—and exaggeratedly—sweet.

  “You didn't see me leave,” she said as she stepped outside.

  “And you didn't see me take a bribe.”

  “I never do.”

  At the curb, Steven motioned for the gray Mercedes limo parked at the northwest corner of Fifth Avenue. When it pulled up beside him, he waved Lex forward, into the open back passenger door. “Have a good evenin', ma'am.”

  “Thank you, kind sir.” She dropped into the plush leather seats and settled Champagne on her lap. The door closed. “The Met,” she said.

  The partition that divided the front seats from the luxurious passenger compartment slid all the way down. Striking blue eyes stared back at her from the rearview mirror. Clarence Becker had been the Hamilton family's chauffeur for three years. He was a scrawny forty-two-year-old guy with a good heart and a penchant for booze, loud music, and expensive cigars. Lex often referred to him as a sweet thug.

  Now he was staring at her intently. “Lex …,” he said, his voice trembling with worry.

  “I've already heard the speech, Clarence, and I'm in no mood to hear it again.”

  He turned around in his seat. “If your father finds out I drove you to the gala, I'll never hear the end of it. He told me you're not supposed to …”

  As his voice trailed away, Lex reached for the magic purse. She withdrew a long Cuban cigar from the other side pouch—the one reserved for rare emergencies that money couldn't solve—and held it out.

  Clarence's eyes widened. He reverently took the cigar into his fingers and stared at it. Then he passed it beneath his nostrils, inhaling the expensive scent. “Ohhh,” he groaned. “This a hot little number. Yum.”

  “Straight from Daddy's fine-tobacco collection,” Lex said. “He could care less about cigars. Park and I smoke most of them. And there'll be five more for you tomorrow—if I get my ride.”

  Clarence gave her a conspiratorial wink as he dropped the cigar into his lapel pocket and turned around. A moment later the car pulled out onto Fifth Avenue.

  Mission accomplished. Lex leaned back and smiled happily. Who said freedom couldn't be bought?

  2

  West of Madison

  The Great Hall of the Metropolitan Museum of Art was glittering. Candles burned on the tables, and endless strands of white lights had been draped across the vaulted ceiling in honor of Van Gogh's Starry Night. It was like a scene from a fairy tale, Madison Hamilton thought as she scanned the crowded floor. She recognized most of the faces smiling back at her. Some were her father's business acquaintances. Others were old fixtures on the New York social scene. Dinner had been served, and now the quiet crowd was mingling as the orchestra played Bach.

  She stood up from her place at the coveted President's Table—reserved for patrons who had dropped ten thousand dollars a plate—and looked down, making certain she hadn't spilled any food on her gown. It was vintage Chanel. A simple black lace strapless that fell to her ankles and hugged her waist snugly. At her neck, a Harry Winston ten-carat choker sparkled like the Manhattan skyline. Her dark hair was pulled up in a chignon. She knew all eyes had been on her since the gala had started an hour ago, and she didn't mind the attention one bit. Here, among her intellectual peers, she was being admired for more than just her beauty. Madison had spent the past two months interning in the Met's fund-raising and development office, coordinating many of tonight's decorative festivities on her own. It was no secret that she had the brains to match the influential last name.

  Madison yawned just as a photographer approached, his camera ready. She quickly clamped down on her teeth, smiled, and lifted her chin slightly, all too aware that this very picture would appear in the Style section of the New York Times on Sunday. As the lens flashed brightly, she prayed for a flattering shot—even though an unflattering shot was rare.

  Of the Hamilton triplets, Madison looked most like their mother. Venturina Baci, famed actress of stage and screen, had been a top model in her teens and early twenties. A lean, leggy Italian with wild dark hair and the face of an angel, Venturina made her theatrical debut in London's West End; a year later, while shooting her first movie in New York, she spent a single night partying at a trendy nightclub and fell in love. Venturina was twenty-six. Trevor Hamilton was thirty-two. Their romance had been chronicled in all the major tabloids of the day: the rising star and the ambitious, handsome entrepreneur. They married a few months later and Venturina became pregnant with triplets. But the marriage didn't last. When Madison, Park, and Lex were all of three, Venturina moved back to Italy to jump-start her European film career. And Trevor, already a billionaire, wouldn't hear of his famous girls leaving New York, the city that adored them.

  There was never a time when Madison resented being compared to her mother. Venturina Baci was beautiful and accomplished, a European treasure. Her movies were not of the blockbuster variety, but works of cinematic art. All the high-profile directors loved her: Almodóvar, Jeunet, Zhang. Over the years, Madison, Park, and Lex had traveled to the Cannes and Venice film festivals to cheer Venturina on. They shared a special relationship with their mother, a bond that transcended the four thousand miles separating them. Venturina wasn't around to share in all the small, meaningful moments of their lives— shopping on Fifth, vacationing in the Hamptons— but she was always there when her girls needed her.

  Madison dropped her pose as the photographer nodded gratefully. Then she tur
ned around and caught sight of her best friend, Coco McKaid, sifting through the crowd.

  Coco was small and impish, with pixie-cut black hair and big brown eyes. She always looked as though she was in the middle of an emergency. Like Madison and her sisters, Coco was a sophomore at St. Cecilia's Prep. Her parents owned the Bristol Winery in Napa Valley, California—which was exactly why Coco hated wine and drank only vodka. She came to Madison's side and said, “Can you believe it?”

  “Believe what?”

  “You mean you haven't seen him yet?”

  Madison frowned. “Jeremy Bleu? We all saw him twenty minutes ago. He made the opening remarks. He's gorgeous.” As she spoke the words, a dreamy picture of Jeremy flashed in front of her eyes. Hollywood's current golden boy, Jeremy was one of the biggest celebrities in attendance tonight. His upcoming movie, Knight, had something to do with swords, shields, and the weapons of those violent medieval days. The flick would probably suck and go on to make a few hundred million at the box office. But it didn't matter what Jeremy Bleu said or did. His looks were downright phenomenal. You could sit there, mute the sound in your home theater, and just stare at him for hours. The black hair. The bright green eyes. The muscles rippling through his shirt. The very thought of him made Madison swoon.

  “Not him,” Coco said, exasperated. She tugged Madison's arm and led her across the room toward the edge of the dance floor. “Look, and then puke.”

  It took only a moment for Madison's eyes to register the awful sight. Theo West, the forbidden object of her affection, was snuggling close to Annabelle Christensen, who had long ago been elected mayor of Slut City, New York. They were box-stepping to the music and nuzzling at each other's lips. Madison felt her stomach clench.

  “How the hell did they get in here?” Coco asked.

  “Both Annabelle's and Theo's parents are benefactors of the museum,” Madison replied calmly, never taking her eyes off the unseemly pair. “But I never thought Theo would have the nerve to come.”

  “Well, he did. And so did that bitch.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Madison instructed her friend. “I don't want to let them know we're watching.”

  But it was hard to ignore either one of them. Theo was tall and well built, and his blond hair fell across his forehead in curly strands. He had blue eyes, perfect teeth, and a butt like Michelangelo's statue of David. Annabelle's strawberry blond locks were long and wavy. Her face was fairly hideous, but she had a gymnast's tight body and, according to rumors, she used that gymnast's body to assume various enticing positions behind closed doors.

  “Who made her gown?” Coco whispered. “The house of Dior, or the house of whore?”

  Staring at Theo made Madison want to cry. They had known each other their entire lives. The attraction between them had always been intense, but the mere possibility of a real relationship was a total no-no. The West and Hamilton families were social rivals. It was a decades-old war, rooted in money, greed, and cutthroat business deals. Trevor Hamilton had publicly bashed the Wests on several occasions, and the Wests made no secret of their distaste for the Hamilton clan's “uncouth behavior.” The battle had been written up in gossip columns at least a thousand times.

  Madison had always thought of the rivalry as a trivial matter. Why couldn't bygones just be bygones? Last year, she had adopted that mode of thinking and approached Theo one day after school. The desire she felt for him had simply boiled to the surface. She'd cornered him in the auditorium and said, “Look. I know we're not supposed to even talk to each other, but I like you. And I think you like me. We didn't create the tension between our families, right?” Theo had responded with a broad, sexy smile. And then he'd gently stroked a finger across her cheek, lifted her chin, and kissed her hot on the lips. It was the first time Madison had ever let her guard down. For days afterward, she couldn't think of Theo without feeling those sharp sensations way down in the danger zone. They had talked and kissed in secret for a couple of weeks, but then, one day, he'd simply started ignoring her all over again. When Madison approached him, he told her it was impossible, it could never work, he hated betraying his family, and just leave it at that, okay? Since then, Theo had been shamelessly playing the field and not bothering to even pretend otherwise. It was as though the tender relationship between them had never even existed.

  Even now, Madison hated admitting the truth to herself—and the truth was that she had begun falling in love with Theo West. Beneath the playboy image was a smart guy who loved Shakespeare, Mozart, and Clarins. She was probably the only girl on the planet who knew he recited sonnets and exfoliated before shaving.

  “Stop staring,” Coco whispered harshly.

  Madison blinked and brought herself back to the present. “It just hurts,” she said quietly. “I can't believe he would choose a girl like Annabelle over me.”

  “He didn't choose Annabelle because he likes her more. He chose her because she carries condoms in her purse.”

  Madison looked away as Theo clamped a CPRsized kiss on Annabelle's mouth.

  “Don't let it get you down,” Coco said. “I only wanted you to see the proof that he's totally rank. You deserve someone way better than that asshole. Try to stop thinking about him.”

  “I wish it were that easy.” It wasn't. Theo was the first guy who'd made her feel hot. Not just physically, but emotionally too. In the path of his lustful stares, she had experienced a new confidence, something akin to sexiness. Would things have been different now if she hadn't gone all the way with him? Sometimes she cursed herself for letting it happen, for giving Theo her virginity. That night, there'd been something primal about the passion between them. She could still feel the strength of his body, taste the sweetness of his breath….

  “Oh, shit,” Coco said, interrupting her thoughts. “Here they come.”

  Madison looked back at the dance floor and saw, with slowly growing horror, that Theo and Annabelle were striding toward her, hand in hand. It was too late to walk away. Her heart started pounding. Was she supposed to just ignore him? Would it be cooler to greet him?

  “Chill,” Coco whispered.

  Madison held her breath as Theo neared. Her eyes locked on his. She cracked a ghost of a smile and tossed her head back.

  He stopped not two feet from her. “Hey,” he said.

  “Hi, how's it going?” Madison kept her voice cheery. Beside her, Coco grunted a reply.

  “Great,” Theo replied. “You did one hell of a job here, Mads. This is sure to be a huge success.”

  Mads. What he used to call her when they were secretly an item. Madison nodded. She noticed the unnatural brightness of his eyes and knew he'd probably smoked before coming here. She didn't know what to do but answer lamely, “It was a lot of fun. We all worked hard.”

  “You know Annabelle, right?”

  “Of course.” Madison smiled.

  Annabelle stepped between them. The sharp look in her eyes was obvious. “Oh, Madison,” she said, a twinge of sarcasm in her tone. “You look so cute.”

  Cute? Madison kept the smile in place. She didn't reply.

  Annabelle turned her gaze to Coco. “Are you kids having fun?”

  Kids? Cute? What a bitch.

  Coco chuckled. “And who are you wearing tonight, Annabelle?”

  “Zac Posen,” Annabelle said, doing a little whimsical pose.

  “It's an interesting dress,” Coco drawled. “And it looks loose in all the right places.”

  Madison bit her tongue.

  Theo looked away.

  Annabelle's lips pursed into a tight line, and she shot Coco a hateful stare. “Come on, Theo,” she snapped, tugging at his arm. “Let's leave the kids to their playpen.” And with that, she stomped off, Theo trailing close behind.

  Madison finally let out her laughter. But it was a hollow victory. Deep down, she still felt cheated, insecure, inadequate. She felt like the kid Annabelle had labeled her.

  “Sluts just have nerve,” Coco said. “I wa
s two seconds from telling her it looked like she'd bought that dress off the rack at Macy's.”

  Madison gasped. That was an insult very few people deserved.

  Coco's eyes suddenly widened as she stared over Madison's shoulder. “Hey, I thought you said Lex wasn't coming tonight.”

  “Lex?” Madison asked, confused. She followed Coco's gaze to the hall's arched entryway and nearly lost consciousness.

  Yes, it was Lex. In the flesh.

  She entered the room as though the event were being held in her honor. She took slow, practiced steps, nodding and smiling at the dozens of guests who had stopped dancing—or stopped breathing—to gawk at her. She brought her hand up in a flat, windshield-wiper wave. Cameras flashed. Someone from one of the tables whistled admiringly. And Champagne, cuddled in the crook of her arm, started barking.

  “Oh, my God,” Madison said. “I think I'm going to be sick.”

  “Don't vomit on your shoes,” Coco warned.

  Too shocked to move, Madison played her usual card and forced a smile to her lips. People were staring. Some were whispering. The air of disapproval wasn't a surprise, given Lex's completely inappropriate attire. Madison watched her sister sashay across the floor, all legs and boobs and flashy grin, and for the first time in her life wished she could just disappear.

  “Hi!” Lex said giddily. “I'm not too late, am I?”

  Keeping the smile in place, Madison leaned toward Lex's ear and said, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “What language!” Lex shot back. “Where did you learn to speak like that?”

  “Quit being coy and tell me how you got here. Did you bribe Lupe and Clarence again? Oh, Daddy's gonna have a field day with this.”

  “I didn't bribe anyone,” Lex lied. “For your information, I snuck out of the apartment. Lupe and Clarence have nothing to do with it. I wanted to come, and here I am.”

  Madison sighed, exasperated.

  “Hey, Lex. Welcome to the party.” Coco sounded pleased, and she couldn't help herself. A party wasn't really a party until Lex walked through the doors.