Page 12 of The Revenge Plan

He looked a little irritated. “What?”

“My allowance.”

5

“Now?” The room felt a little unsteady, and I wanted nothing more than to crash onto the bed, and she was talking about money? “Don’t you think this is a conversation better held tomorrow when we’re both sober.”

“I’m sober.”

“Clearly,” I muttered. So, she comes out. Whatever feelings for her that had been brewing simmered.

“Besides,” she said, shifting her feet. A shoe came out of her dress, followed by the other one. Her height shortened by a few inches, “This may not be urgent to you, but it is to me. You said my stuff is upstairs, right?” She didn’t wait for me to answer and instead rushed up. A few moments later she was back. She had papers in her hands. She dropped them on the table.

“There are some adjustments I want made.” She pointed to a page with a few figures highlighted. I picked it up.

“You want to change the allowance?” The amount was already generous. It was enough to buy a brand new wardrobe of designer clothes and shoes every month, and that's excluding the discount she was likely to get if she shopped at any of the company stores. It was more than enough.

She nodded. “And I want the first payment as soon as possible.”

A sour taste filled my mouth. I don’t know what I expected, but I guess I should have expected that. “Hailey, I knew your family was broke, but is it really this broke?”

“I don’t—” she was about to say something and caught herself, “what does it matter. It’s about what I’m owed for this sham marriage, and I think I’m owed a lot more than that.” She lifted her chin, “It’s not what I’m worth.”

“You know, the best time to negotiate was before the wedding, right? Not after? Hence theprein pre-nup?”

“If you refuse, I’ll annul the wedding.”

“I don’t think your father would be happy about that.”

“Wanna bet?”

She was a weird one. She very well could do it, or at least leak rumors of a separation in the papers. That kind of news would be enough to make us seem like trashy celebrities who got married on a whim. It would make me look worse more than it would affect her. She was a socialite. Marrying and divorcing is what she did during lunch, I had money and reputation riding on this.

“Fine. How much do you want?”

“Double.”

It was a lot, but nothing I couldn’t fork out, “Deal. I’ll have my lawyers draft a new contract. And warn them to finalize the papers before the wedding next time.”

Her shoulders relaxed. It seems a lot was riding on this. Was she that desperate for money? No. When she was in high school, she had a habit of shoplifting. She would come from her kleptomaniac trips with inconsequential items such as cheap lip balm and dental floss she had stolen from a shop. I can’t believe I once thought it was a quirk or some need for attention. But it was who she was. A spoiled greedy little bitch. Nothing more needed to be explained.

“Thanks,” she said, “that is all I needed.”

“Is that all?”

“If something comes up, I’ll tell you.”

“Why do you need it so soon?” I had to admit I was curious.

“Are you not going to give it to me if I tell you?”

“I never said that.”

“Then I won’t tell you.” She turned and made her way upstairs.

“As long as it doesn’t go to anything illegal like drugs,” I called out.

She paused as she was about to ascend. She whipped her hair to face me, “It just wasn’t enough, dear benefactor. I’m the wife of the head of a fortune five hundred company. I need a wardrobe that matches.”

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