The Secret Diamond Sisters

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At that, he stood up to leave the steakhouse. It was time to go to Myst.

chapter 8

Madison Lockhart loved Myst. It was the most extravagant nightclub in Vegas, with its three-story waterfall cascading from the ceiling into the lagoon on the first floor. She sat with her friends in a semicircular booth on the VIP level, waiting for international DJ superstar David Guetta to hit the stage. A few people danced on the elevated lit-up platform—mainly adults who had already had a few drinks. Normally Myst drew a younger crowd, but this Fourth of July party was a special event. The fireworks show was rumored to be better than the one at Caesars Palace, and would be choreographed to David Guetta’s music. Madison couldn’t wait to see it.

She watched her parents step onto the floor and dance with each other. This was one of the few nights they both weren’t working, which was rare since her dad was the lead neurosurgeon at Sunrise Hospital and Medical Center—the best hospital in the state—where her mom also worked as an anesthesiologist. Nights when they looked this relaxed didn’t happen often.

They waved her up to join them, but Madison shook her head. That so wasn’t happening.

“I think your parents want you to dance with them,” Oliver Prescott joked from his seat next to her.

Madison rolled her eyes. She and Oliver had been best friends since elementary school, but whenever she looked at him now she was reminded of how much he’d changed in the past year. Oliver had always been good-looking, but he’d started working out over the past few months, and it showed. Every inch of his body was more defined. He’d also grown his hair out during their sophomore year, and while it wasn’t long, it looked much better than the shaved look he’d tried to pull off when they were freshmen. It brought out his dark eyes. And one thing Oliver knew how to do was use his eyes. He had the “look at a girl and make her melt” technique down perfectly. He could get any girl he wanted, and he knew it. But it didn’t matter who they were—students at UNLV or celebrities—Oliver never kept his attention on one girl for long.

Madison hoped he wouldn’t be like Damien and set his sights on the Diamond girls. That would piss her off. But while Oliver and Damien had a lot in common, Damien liked the emotional game—dating and making girls fall head over heels for him—whereas for Oliver, it was about the physical conquests. But it had never been like that between them. She wouldn’t want to risk messing up their friendship, even if she thought she could trust him in a relationship. He had also been on a gambling spree this summer, but as the son of one of the wealthiest hotel owners in Vegas, at least he could afford it.

Oliver scooted closer to her, tilting his head in concern. “Is something wrong?” he asked softly.

Why had everyone been asking her that recently? First Damien, and now Oliver. It was seriously irritating.

“Nothing’s wrong.” She brushed off the question and poured herself a glass of champagne from the bottle that came with their table. Screw the calories—she needed to relax. She would make it up tomorrow by eating less and adding more time to her workout. “Why would it be?”

Before Oliver could answer, Damien slid into the booth and swung his arm around Madison’s shoulders. His skin radiated heat, like he’d been dancing. “You look amazing,” he said, his face inches from hers. He smelled like vodka and orange juice, and Madison wondered how much he’d had.

“Thanks,” Madison said, glad she’d chosen the Shoshanna dress. She loved wearing black—not only was it slimming, but it looked best on her. This particular dress was sleeveless, so it showed off her defined collarbones, and it was short without being too short, falling to midthigh. Plus, most of the other girls were wearing red, white or blue dresses, so hers stood out.

Oliver shifted in his seat next to her, and he said something to their friend Larissa. Oliver and Larissa had an “agreement”—friends with benefits, or something like that. Madison suspected that Larissa felt more for Oliver than she let on, but he didn’t take her seriously. Which was good, since Oliver and Larissa would make a terrible couple. He deserved someone who would challenge him, and Larissa wasn’t that person.

“You look good, too,” Madison told Damien. It wasn’t a lie. Most girls at the party would have killed to be sitting so close to him. “I like this.” She brought her hand up to the thin leather necklace he had on, allowing her fingers to linger across his skin. “Is it new?”

His breathing slowed at her touch, and Madison curved her lips into a small smile. “I’ve had it for a while,” he said, bringing his hand up to rest on top of hers. “But since you like it I’ll make sure to wear it more often.”

Not wanting to stay like that for too long—she liked occasional contact with Damien, but she didn’t want to lead him on too much—she brought her hand back down to her lap and scanned the room for one person in particular.

It didn’t take long to spot Brett Carmel sitting at the bar by himself. He never was the most social guy on the planet—which was why he was so mysterious to her.

“I’m sick of this champagne,” Madison announced, placing her glass down on the table. “I’m getting something else.”

Damien let her out of the booth, his eyes following her every movement. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“I’m fine.” She glanced at the bar to make sure Brett was still there. He was. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She sauntered across the club, feeling heads turn, enjoying the rush from the attention. Brett didn’t notice her until she slid into the seat next to him.

“Is this seat taken?” she asked, rotating the stool to face him.

“Nope.” He looked straight ahead and took a swig from his bottle of beer. His lack of excitement to see her disheartened her, but she wouldn’t give up. Maybe he was just having a bad day.

She pointed at his drink. “Didn’t they offer you a glass for that?” Not many people ordered beer on the VIP level, but the bartender should have served it in a classier way.

“It tastes better from the bottle.” He drank from it again, looking behind him like he was searching for someone who wasn’t Madison. What was his problem? Most guys would be thrilled if she gave them the time of day, and Brett had the nerve to act indifferent.

Her confidence waned. Why was Brett so disinterested in her? She might not have a reputation for being the friendliest girl at school, but she wasn’t cruel or slutty. Definitely not slutty. She wasn’t going to whore herself out to any guy who wanted her (which was a lot of them), so she would be patient until she met someone she wanted to be with. There had been times when Madison had contemplated giving up the hope of romance and losing her virginity to a friend. Oliver would probably be on board if she asked. But she held out hope that her first time would be special—with someone she loved, who loved her in return.

“So...” she said to Brett, trying to figure out how to continue the conversation. “I haven’t seen you here recently.”

“That’s because I haven’t been here recently.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t making this not-awkward thing easy. “Why’d you change your mind and come tonight?”

“I was forced.”

Madison didn’t know how to respond, so she ordered a glass of Meursault Chardonnay from the bartender. He carded her and scanned the fake ID Oliver had gotten through a connection for everyone in their group of friends, giving it back to her once it came through okay. The ID was top-notch and hadn’t failed her yet.

Madison lifted the glass to her nose and inhaled. Meursault was her favorite—full and buttery, with a finish of honey. It might mean another 100 fewer calories that she could have tomorrow, but she needed the liquid confidence. She swirled it around and tasted it. “This is delicious.” She savored the sweet aftertaste and held it out to Brett, leaning closer so he got a good look at her cleavage. “It’s my favorite wine. Want to try it?”