Priceless. Nicole Richie

Not well at all. Drunk and furious, she’d torched the political science building.

      Luckily, her father was able to step in and offer to rebuild those parts of the building that hadn’t burned to the ground, and he and the Yale board had agreed that Charlotte should spend her sophomore year elsewhere. Europe might be far enough, they thought, and the Sorbonne acquired a new student and an updated computer system.

      And now here she was, back less than a day, and already she’d run into him. Sometimes life was just a bitch.

      AS SHE WALKED into the main part of the club, she saw that things hadn’t changed much while she’d been away. Anyone who was young, gorgeous, rich, or horny was there, and most of Nick’s guests were all four. Beautiful girls and boys danced essentially naked on podiums all around the club, and everyone pretended not to look at them while at the same time hoping they were being looked at themselves. Same same. She turned to Nick, who was following her in, presumably to make sure she didn’t set fire to his club.

      “I see you’re still working the ugly beat.”

      He shrugged. “What can I do? The beautiful are drawn to me—why else would you be here?” He looked around, his experienced eyes seeing everything, despite the candlelight and heavy smoke. “There. He’s in that corner.”

      Charlotte took a moment to make him out, but then her heart stopped. Taylor. Still gorgeous, although now he seemed to be working a gangsta look, which is hard when you’re from Connecticut and your father is the president of a major bank. The closest he ever got to the threat of violence was hiding from the townies in New Haven. Loose pants, slumped posture, lots of bling, and three girls dressed as sluts from the future on either side. Bottle of Courvoisier on the table. Bottle of Cristal, presumably for the sluts.

      Nick squeezed her arm. “Are you going to cause trouble, or are you cool?”

      “I’m cool.”

      “Don’t light any fires, promise?

      ” “That was more than a year ago.”

      “Do you even have matches?”

      “No, you idiot. Besides, look around. The place is full of candles and drunks. About six hundred people are in danger of burning the place down. If the fire marshal comes in … ”

      He quickly put his hand over her mouth. “Don’t ever, ever say those two words in my presence again.” He raised his finger. “I mean it, it’s bad luck. Don’t make me block your number.”

      She laughed and watched him melt into the crowd. In the far corner, as far from Taylor as possible, her dinner posse had set up camp, and James was apparently trying to persuade two pole dancers to let him join them onstage. They really weren’t interested, but they were drunk enough to let him try.

      Emily and Jane waved her over. She sighed inwardly and headed in their direction. In many ways, these clubs were where she lived or, at least, where the public face of Charlotte Williams lived. Before she’d discovered her inner bitch and realized that people found her entertaining when she was naughty, she’d found clubs scary. And they still made her feel anxious inside, but she guessed everyone felt that way when the world was looking at them. Not that any of her crowd would ever admit it.

      “Did you see Taylor?” Jane looked worried.

      Charlotte nodded. “It’s OK. It’s been a long time.”

      “Did you see who he’s with?” Emily looked excited.

      Charlotte nodded again. “Stacy Star.”

      Zeb was beside himself. “I have all her albums. She’s outrageous. She worked the runway for Gaultier, and it was beyond fabulous. She’s awesome.”

      Charlotte looked at him. “You’re babbling, Zeb. Calm down.”

      He was quivering like a greyhound. “I can’t. She’s awesome. I love her.”

      Charlotte frowned, indicating to a passing waitress that she needed service. The waitress ignored her. “Zeb, I went to preschool with her. Her real name is Stacy Fishbein.”

      Zeb refused to be put off. “Well, good for her that she changed it, then. I’d change mine if I could.”

      “What’s stopping you?”

      “My parents. They think Zebediah is a cool name for a faggot. Fucking hippies. They’re so accepting, it’s really annoying.”

      The waitress came over, finally. Charlotte smiled up at her.

      “Did Nick make you wear that, or are those your own clothes?”

      The waitress was wearing a peekaboo bra, with glitter on her nipples and short-shorts. She narrowed her eyes. “You’re a friend of Nick’s?”

      “I’m a very good friend of Nick’s. You must be new, or you’d know me by sight and would already have brought me a Grey Goose and grapefruit, which is what I always have. I never pay, and neither does anyone with me.”

      The waitress started to laugh. “You’re joking, right?”

      The rest of the table went quiet. The waitress looked nervous. She looked over at Nick, who was watching her. He raised his eyebrows and made a gesture with his hand that made it clear she was to give Charlotte anything she wanted.

      “Uh, I’ll get you your drink right away. Sorry.” She turned to go.

      “Show me your tits.” James was being insolent, but Charlotte let it go. New staff need to be taught a lesson sometimes.

      The waitress turned back. She was actually very pretty. “No. Fuck off.”

      Pretty and feisty. That was hot, and James became more interested.

      “No, really, take off your bra, and let me touch your tits. In fact, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll let me see it all. Otherwise, Charlotte will tell Nick you’re out of here.”

      Charlotte sighed. This was too much. “No, I won’t, James. Get a grip. Go get us our drinks, OK?” The waitress hurried away.

      James was annoyed. “I want the waitress, Charlotte.”

      Charlotte shrugged. “Well, why not go about it the usual way, James? Talk to her for ten minutes, and tell her she’s pretty. It usually works for you, right? Of course, now you’ve got your asshole behavior to overcome, so it might take you half an hour.”

      She was watching Taylor. He hadn’t seen her yet. Time to make a move.

      She stood up, tousling her hair and smoothing her dress. “Come on, James, come dance with me.” She felt hollow inside, but she couldn’t let anyone see it.

      James was sulking. He shook his head.

      Charlotte smiled at him. “Come on. We’ll make it so hot the waitress won’t be able to help herself, and she’ll go down on you on the dance floor.”

      James smiled. He really was a very simple creature. He stood up, elegant and tall, and took her hand.

      The dance floor had been full not a moment before, but somehow it had had one of those sudden shifts, where half the people wander off for a drink. Everyone could see Charlotte and James as they walked on, and since most of the club knew who they were, there was lots of whispering.

      Charlotte began to dance sinuously. She knew she looked good, and dancing always turned her on. She and James had actually done this many times before; it was how they’d hooked up. There was something about their chemistry that turned dancing into foreplay. She could feel Taylor watching her now and touched herself, shimmying the silk of her dress over her body until her nipples became hard, clearly visible through the thin fabric. James was moving very close to her, their hips pressed against each other, swinging and moving in time. James took her long hair in one hand and wound it around his wrist, pulling her head back so he could start licking her neck. His other hand curved around her breast, squeezing it and pulling on the already hard