One Night

Two Years Later

I was running late, and honestly, I didn’t give a damn.

I took my sweet time getting ready, pulling on my best pair of jeans and my favorite blouse that showed off my curves just right.

I slipped into some low heels, then stood in front of the mirror, debating what to do with my hair. Should I braid it? Would it be too hot outside, like it usually was in June?

I decided on a braid, grabbed my bag, and headed out of my apartment. I had a thirty-minute drive to the airport, and my step-sister was probably touching down right about now.

Well, she could wait for once. It wouldn’t kill her.

As I started up my Hyundai and hit the road, I couldn’t help but frown at the thought of having to pick up Rosalyn.

My father, Raymond Sheridan, was the founder of Sheridan Corporations, which put him on the list of North America’s top 100 wealthiest men.

He had two biological daughters—me and my older sister, Emma. Our mother passed away when I was four and Emma was six.

For the next ten years, he dated a string of women, until he met Scarlet Howard, a divorced mother of two kids who were, conveniently, the same ages as Emma and me.

Roman was a year older than Emma, and Rosalyn was my age.

Scarlet was a knockout for a woman her age, and my dad fell head over heels for her. They were married less than a year after they started dating.

I didn’t have a problem with Scarlet, and neither did Emma. She was okay. But her kids were a different story.

Like Emma and me, Roman and Rosalyn’s father was loaded. But unlike us, their father spoiled them rotten.

Both of them were insufferable. I couldn’t stand either of them, and while Emma pretended to tolerate them, I knew she felt the same way I did.

But she did have a soft spot for Rosalyn, since they were both in the modeling industry.

So my supermodel step-sister was coming back from a tour in France.

Dad and Scarlet were on vacation in Hawaii.

Emma was at a photo shoot for a new Armani commercial.

And Roman was working his ass off, preparing to take over Dad’s company.

That left me, the unemployed, uneducated, unsuccessful black sheep of the Howard-Sheridan family, to pick up the diva.

Unlike my sister, who was the next Heidi Klum, or Rosalyn, the new Miranda Kerr, or Roman, the future CEO of Sheridan Corporations, I was...well, nothing.

I dropped out of college halfway through my English Lit degree when I realized I’d rather watch the movie versions of Shakespeare’s plays than read them. Instead, I focused on music, my true passion.

I wasn’t the best pianist in the world, but I was good enough to land a part-time job at a fancy restaurant downtown. I played piano and got paid for it. For me, that was enough.

In my family’s eyes, I was a lost cause.

But after what happened two years ago, I couldn’t care less what my family thought. They’d been wrong about me more than once.

I was done trying to please them, especially Rosalyn.

Thankfully, the roads were clear, and I made it to the airport five minutes earlier than expected. I parked the car, got out, and headed to the arrivals hall.

I’d been to this airport more times than I cared to count, but never for myself. It was always to pick up or drop off a family member.

I didn’t have any friends left after the incident two years ago.

I leaned against a pillar and played Candy Crush on my iPhone while I waited. After a few minutes, the doors to the hall opened and a flood of new arrivals poured in.

Families reunited with hugs and tears and laughter.

One man even had a bouquet of roses, which he handed to a woman who immediately burst into tears and threw her arms around him. How sweet. I hated flowers.

Then it was my turn to greet my loved one, but that was never going to happen.

Rosalyn Howard walked into the arrivals hall, and heads turned to watch her.

She was tall (obviously, she was a model) with wavy light brown hair and greenish-blue eyes. She had a natural tan and a slim figure.

She carried herself with such confidence that it was impossible not to look.

Once upon a time, I’d been awestruck by her beauty too. Then she opened her mouth and ruined it.

Like right now.

She flashed me a big, fake smile, her teeth so white they could probably blind someone.

“Blair!” she called, her voice dripping with false enthusiasm. It made me cringe.

She came over and gave me a hug that made my skin crawl. “I’ve missed you so much, sister!”

I didn’t say anything, just waited for her to let go and step back. She looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. Fucking step-sisters.

“Rosalyn,” I said, my voice cold. I kept my gaze level with her neck. She was taller than me, and I’d be damned if I was going to look up at her.

She giggled, and I saw the man with the flowers staring at her in awe. His girlfriend looked like she was about to start crying again. Men.

“You’re so cold,” she said, pouting. “It’s been so long since I last saw you. You should be more excited.”

I wasn’t one for lying. I prided myself on being honest, even if the truth hurt.

“I don’t have the energy to deal with you,” I told her, turning my back and heading for the exit. “Let’s just go.”

Rosalyn didn’t say a word as she picked up her pace, making sure she was leading the way. She was such a self-centered woman. She shot me a glare, her friendly facade slipping.

“You’re really starting to bug me,” she muttered under her breath.

“Feeling’s mutual,” I shot back.

Just as we were about to leave, a girl who looked about twelve stopped us. “You’re Rosie Howard!” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she looked at Rosalyn. “Can I…can I get a picture with you?”

Rosalyn’s face instantly changed, her model’s smile back in place as she beamed at the girl.

“Of course,” she said, bending down so the girl could take a selfie with her. Once that was done, more and more people recognized Rosalyn and she was suddenly swarmed with fans wanting pictures.

She was still in the early stages of her fame, but judging by the crowd of fans, she was doing pretty well.

Freaking models.

After about thirty minutes, Rosalyn was finally free. Once we were in my Hyundai, she scowled and started to file her nails, something she always did when she was annoyed.

“That’s why I asked Latisha to arrange for an escort from the airport, but no, the clueless agent kept telling me to get my head out of the clouds because I’m not as famous as I think I am,” she huffed. “Well, look how well that turned out.”

Rosalyn loved to complain. I hated to listen.

Unfortunately, we were stuck in this car together for the next half hour, so I bit my tongue and listened as she rambled on about her agent.

She even stooped so low as to make a racist comment, saying that Latisha didn’t understand the struggles of a beautiful white woman in her prime.

I was seriously considering hiring an exorcist after this car ride just to make sure no evil spirits lingered in my car because of her.

Once we were in the city, I parked in front of the luxurious building where she, Emma, and Roman all had their apartments.

The building was owned by my father, who also ran a small real estate company on the side. I used to live here too, until…everything happened.

Just as she was about to get out of the car, which I was eagerly waiting for, she paused and turned to face me, ruining my moment of relief. “Did Raymond tell you about the engagement party?”

I resisted the urge to bang my head against the dashboard. My father and Scarlet had been going on and on about Emma’s engagement to her long-time boyfriend, Ford.

Ford was an actor, the son of two actors, and made his first few million when he was twelve and starred in a blockbuster movie that grossed over five billion dollars.

He’d been a big deal in the industry ever since, and of course my father and Scarlet adored him.

He met Emma when my sister was trying her hand at acting alongside her modeling career and landed a minor role in a movie where he was the lead.

They hit it off and a week ago, he proposed to her at the Mexican restaurant where they had their first date, presenting her with a massive diamond ring.

My sister tearfully said yes—because who would say no to a diamond ring, right?—and now everyone was planning a big, fancy, paparazzi-filled party to celebrate the happy occasion.

Just thinking about it gave me a headache.

“Yes, Rosalyn,” I said, trying to hide my exhaustion. “He told me.”

“Great,” she said, flashing me her signature smug smile. “I heard Holden Knight was invited. You know, the youngest director to ever win the Oscar for Best Director at the age of twenty-six?”

She raised a condescending eyebrow when I just stared at her blankly. “Anyway, according to Emma, he’s single. I’m going to make a move.”

Now I understood the reason for her smug smile. “Go for it,” I said flatly, “if you’re worried I’ll make a move, then rest assured I won’t.”

She gave me a haughty look. “He’s going to see me, and you think he’ll be interested in you?”

She burst out laughing and flicked her hair back. “We saw how well your vanity worked out for you two years ago.”

Bitch. “Get out of my car.”

“With pleasure,” she said, grinning triumphantly as she got out of the car.

My father could’ve married any other woman, one with normal kids who weren’t such hypocrites and jerks, but instead he chose to play Cinderella with me.

Thanks, Dad. That meant a lot.

Frustrated, I drove back to my small apartment in a thankfully normal building and retreated to my piano room, where my mother’s grand piano stood. It was a beautiful, transparent piece that was passed down to me after she died and I developed an interest in music.

I played the piano, pouring all of my frustration into the keys, improvising and recording some new pieces that I would later transcribe using Sibelius, a sheet music program.

After an hour, I felt calmer, more relaxed. But that calm didn’t last long, because as soon as I logged onto Facebook, I saw an invitation to a wedding.

Not my sister’s, of course, but another one.

Darren Flint and Shelby Atterberry.

As if my day wasn’t bad enough, one of my former friends had thoughtlessly sent me an invitation to my first ex’s wedding to his soon-to-be wife, the woman he’d been seeing behind my back.

Now I was livid.

I deleted the invitation, shut off the computer, and kicked the desk, not even feeling the pain.

Realizing that staying awake wouldn’t do me any good, I went to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels, and, lying in front of the TV, watching some mindless soap opera, I drank myself to sleep.

Life sucked and then you died. Truer words were never spoken.