Page 126 of Feed Your Fiends

“So, no?” she asks.

“Why isn’t anyone throwing money at me?” Hale spins to face us with a pout.

“Rie drained me,” I say. “I can swipe my black card through your ass cheeks, but I’d rather not.”

“Prude,” Rie says.

Hale’s wallet sales through the air and nearly socks me in the face, given my sluggish reflexes, thanks to the bourbon. I toss it to Rie Rie, who grabs a stack to circle Hale and make it rain as he slithers across the floor.

I grab my phone and hit record. “You should headline for Beaulieu’s last weekend of freedom now that the roof's done. You’re their new king, after all. And who wouldn’t want to party with a king?”

Rie throws more cash and Hale collapses on his back as I zoom in on the literal money shot. I flip the phone over and show him the slow mode edit.

“The party has to go on, Hale. You’ve invested this much.”

“It’s still not enough,” he says. “Even with the roof fixed, people are still comparing this place to Pierrot’s. Stassi and Zedd’s party was a huge success, but it still isn’t enough, given the overhead. Now that my mother’s cut me off completely, I’m on my own, and I just covered Beaulieu’s tuition.”

“Exactly why you need another big event to do more renovations. Class up the waitresses' uniforms to custom-made corsets with silk ribbons and glass beads. Get a bigger cigar selection. Put one of the VIP tables on the tallest balcony so that the patrons can feel extra superior despite paying five times as much for the same party. They’ll get a closer view of the dancers in the cages, and they’ll eat it up.”

“That’s actually a good idea,” Hale says slowly.

Rie Rie lies beside him and begins making money angels.

“Do a back to black event. Let everyone go crazy one last weekend before things slow down with all the academies reopening. Then, once they have, shift your attention to the universities since they party twenty-four seven. Then, branch out to private events. In fact, Bart’s looking to have one at the penthouse to celebrate some new assets.”

“You’re right. No more of this sulking shit. Of feeling like shit because I’m a king after all, right? And King’s make a shit ton of money off their minions. Record this peasant and tag Beaussip.”

I hit record as the front doors squeak open.

“This is Beaulieu’s fucking king! Get down to Libellule this Sunday before the start of the academic year for one last hurrah.”

“It’s worse than I thought,” A cold voice calls over Hale’s shoulder as I lower my phone.

Zedd stands behind his father Alistair Beaumont, whose disgusted gaze is drifting from Rie Rie, who’s shoving bills into her sweatshirt, to the table loaded in powdered sugar and dripping with booze, to me, to Hale.

At Hale’s panicked glance at me, I know my face must be loaded in powder because he wipes at his face, and I snort hard to deter a sudden incoming sneeze.

Gant

“Is that,” Alistair trails, but neither Hale nor I are quick enough to cut off Rie.

“It looks like coke, right? It almost fooled me too because I used to do tons of it, but I always preferred the other kind.”

“Crack?” Zedd asks with smug amusement, but Rie Rie shakes her head.

“No. Pep—”

“Rie, why don’t you go grab a mop?” Hale asks gently, and she clomps away.

“It’s powdered sugar,” I say. “We had some doughnuts.”

Zed can hardly contain his grin.

Alistair raises an elegant, silver brow. “Doughnuts?”

“Want one?” Hale asks, and I can hear the panic in his voice, panic he never has with any authoritative figure aside from Alistair Beaumont, and it's all because of one little blonde.

“I ate the last one,” I say, guilty. “We were just goofing off. Getting a sugar high.”

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