Prince Of Greed (Princes Of Sin: The Seven Deadly Sins Series Book 2)

“Evie! Over here!” Rhomi was standing at a table inside the coffee shop. She had sent me a text that she was there early, but I was also running early.

I hadn’t slept much after the startling shadow in my kitchen. The dreams I’d had were too vivid, and I had woken up at the crack of dawn drenched in sweat.

The coffee shop was busy, with plenty of people picking up their orders and bustling around. After putting in my order for a large caramel latte with an extra shot of espresso, I made my way to where Rhomi stood facing the large window.

She smiled brightly and threw her arms around my shoulders.

“How have you been, girlie? It’s been years. Didn’t you move to France or something?” The apples of her cheeks were pink and full with her warm smile.

“Yeah, I’ve been back for a few months now. I should have reached out sooner.”

“Oh, honey, no worries at all. I’m so stoked to see you and catch up.” She giggled and nudged the top of my hand with her manicured fingers.

“I think the last time we saw each other was two summers ago,” I said. “When our dads did that summer park cleanup fundraiser.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fuck my dad and his fake caring-for-humanity bullshit. I haven’t let him drag me to one of his phony events since. That was when Kip Spokes pushed me into the buffet table and shrimp cocktail flung all over my dress. Hate him.” She flicked her wavy brown hair over her shoulder in indignation.

I wasn’t sure what to add to the conversation, but the barista saved me by calling out my order.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, but Rhomi was already digging through her purse and pulling out her phone.

The barista smiled and gave me a quick nod when I reached for my coffee. I took a deep breath and fought the urge to fake some kind of emergency.

What was I thinking when I asked Rhomi for coffee?

We didn’t have anything in common, even when we were younger. She was flirty, talkative, and always the center of attention, whereas I preferred the company of smaller groups. I didn’t mind dancing at clubs but was typically along for the ride when it came to going out with our friends.

I walked back to her, and she set her phone down and smiled again.

“Okay, so tell me about Europe. Did you meet anyone special?”

“I loved it there, actually. I’m sad I had to come back, but it was hard to find a job in London.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t fully the truth. I’d had a job before I left but didn’t have the stability my colleagues had and was laid off within a few months of starting.

She didn’t cut in to speak; she just chewed on the end of her paper straw and focused her dark eyes on me.

So I went on spilling my guts to a practical stranger. “I was dating someone but we decided the distance wouldn’t work. But maybe someday we’ll find our way back to each other, you know?”

She nodded along, a pitied pout on her bottom lip at my supposed European love affair gone wrong.

“What about you?” I asked, eagerly shifting the conversation back to her. “Are you dating anyone?”

She’d have tons to talk about until I could peel away to my father’s house for lunch and chalk up the outing to a failed attempt at rekindling friendships over coffee.

“I don’t do commitment, but I have a few regular hookups here and there.” She winked and shimmied her shoulders playfully. “Actually, one of my sneaky links just texted me an invite to The Deacon Saturday night. Do you want to come? I can totally put you on the guest list. She’s DJing and on the verge of making it big.”

“Saturday night?” I picked at my cuticles, unsure if I should make up an excuse to stay home on one of my only evenings off work.

“Whatever your plans are, dump them. I promise you won’t regret it. The Deacon is a life-changing experience.”

“What’s The Deacon?” I was unsure if she was part of some Hollywood-BDSM-Jesus cult.

“It’s a club. Very hard to get into without knowing someone. I mean, you should be thanking me on your knees for the invite, to be honest.” She giggled, but the joke wasn’t lost on me.

“I don’t know. That doesn’t sound like a scene that I’d fit into,” I said with a playful laugh, hoping she’d take the invite back.

“Don’t say no, Evie. I refuse to hear it.” She waved her hand about, swatting away any doubt in the air. “I’m getting there around 10 p.m., so if you get there after that, text and I’ll come get you.”

“All right . . . I guess . . .”

She was already tapping her thumbs over her phone screen.

“I just sent you the address. I have to run, but I will see you soon. Don’t stand me up, okay.” She smiled carelessly while she gathered up her purse and coffee before adding one last instruction. “And this is a very exclusive club, so wear your hottest outfit. You never know who you’ll meet.”

She pressed the tips of her fingers to her lips and blew me a kiss before dashing out the nearest door, leaving me dumbfounded.

Rebecca met me in the driveway when I pulled up to my father’s house for lunch. I was twenty minutes late, and she was pacing the freshly power-washed pavement.

“Where have you been?” she said through a passive-aggressive, toothy smile.

She didn’t want to sound too angry in front of the catering staff bringing in tables and chairs from two white vans.

I closed my car door and shook the ice in my second latte of the day. “Traffic,” is all I gave her before walking past her and through the front door.

The high, arched entryway housed a life-sized portrait of my father with his three children. Our mother had been excluded for the comfort of one of his ex-wives when the painting had been commissioned.

I hated that painting.

It was there for my father to milk every bit of pity from the media when campaign season came.

I fidgeted with the locket at my neck, the same one I wore in the portrait. It was my mother’s.

Before the accident, it had held two tiny photos: one of her children and one of her parents, who had long since died.

Now, the locket held nothing but the ghost of one of my mother’s most prized possessions. It had been too hard on me for it to carry the faces of the family members I had lost, but being able to touch the smooth surface on the back that was etched with her initials and the diamond-studded flowers on the front kept her with me.

After the quick pause for my reminder of constant grief, I walked to the kitchen where my dad sat at the marble island with his laptop, cellphone, and tablet.

“Hey,” I greeted him on my way to the fridge.

“Evelyn. I’m so happy to see you, kitten. How’s work?” He looked up briefly then picked up his tablet to silence the news video he had been listening to.

“Fine.” I rummaged through the many foil-covered platters and grabbed a shrimp cocktail cup.

I set it down in front of me on the island and waited for him to finish tapping on his phone.

He had to put all other parts of his life on hold to be able to focus on the family that supposedly came above all other duties.

Another lie, but how else would he be seen as a hardworking father if he didn’t spend most of his time buried in his devices?

He finally set the phone down, closed his eyes, and took a deep sigh. He was in casual clothing, so he must have worked from home to prepare for the event. His light-blue eyes surveyed me a moment, then he smiled warmly. It was a glimpse of the man I had always wanted as my father—before duty and his hunger for power had washed him away.

The character he played for the world was the man I’d wished for growing up.

The reporters spun stories about him being home every night to tuck me into bed or missing trips abroad to go to my ballet recitals, but none of it was true. He would show up to my field hockey tournaments randomly, a news crew close on his heels. The only nights he was home before nine was for our monthly family dinner, a tradition that only continued so local restaurateurs could claim he was a regular.

Putting all of himself into his community was how his career started over twenty years ago, but his deep-pocketed friends and business associates were how he had kept his position for so long and moved up in the governmental hierarchy. He hadn’t announced his candidacy for president yet, but the storm of preparation had started years ago. He was smart and calculated every move he made. Every relationship he cultivated was just another pawn for him to play eventually.

“I appreciate you making time for us on Friday night. In the next few months, I might need you on the campaign trail. The core family unit is the backbone of this country after all,” he preached, but his charm was wasted on me.

I looked through the large kitchen window behind him. Rebecca was telling the rental company which path to take to the backyard. Her bouncy, blonde curls whipped around her face in the wind.

“You’ll have Becky with you. Why would you need me?”

He looked after his wife leading two men hauling equipment on dollies, then back to me and for just a second, I thought I saw his eyes roll.

I might have been projecting, but I’d seen the small crack before when one of his previous wives began divorce proceedings. He was never the one to file, but he knew exactly how many extra hours to work and how little to communicate in order to drive women away.

I didn’t know exactly why my father did this, but he was becoming as regular as the tide.

Rebecca was decent as far as my father’s relationships went. I had a feeling she valued her role at my father’s side more than she valued her marriage. A chance at being the First Lady was far more titillating than the alimony she would win in court.

“Rebecca is good company and one of my pillars of support, but I could not imagine traveling for months without seeing you,” he said, a kind smile masking his true intentions.

“I can’t miss work. But if you give me an itinerary, I’ll see what I can do.”

This was enough to end the subject. That and Rebecca bustling in from the backyard.

“They forgot two of the tables but will bring them when they bring the chairs tomorrow morning. The decorator should be here in the afternoon with her crew.” She continued her report with only mild irritation lacing her words. “They will just have to start on the strings of lights and buffet tables until all the tables and chairs are in place.”

My father nodded along but didn’t bother to add anything.

I dipped a cold shrimp in the spicy cocktail sauce then bit down, savoring several more before the end of Rebecca’s droning about her list of tasks.

She finally turned to me. “I need you to go upstairs and pick which dress you’re going to wear. In your room. On the bed.”

“Rebecca has chosen several that will look beautiful on you. Keep the rest. The receipts are in the garment bags,” my father added, knowing that the hundreds of dollars he spent on them would be going into my pocket in the next few days when I returned the hideous things.

She shooed me up the stairs. Her voice followed me up until I reached the guest room that had been deemed mine.

A light-pink calf-length dress had been laid at the foot of the bed. Lined up at its hem was a pair of white, short-heeled shoes.

Ugly.

The combination reminded me of the church outfits my nanny would force me into every Sunday morning.

Pass.

The other dress was purple—maybe more eggplant—with a pair of black heels.

I held it in front of me. It wasn’t skimpy, but there had to have been a mistake. There was no way my father would have approved this dress around so many of his donors. The hem landed at mid-thigh, and the neckline was curved. Not enough for a scandal, but I was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

I grabbed it up along with the others I hadn’t bothered to consider and headed back downstairs.

“Find one that fits the occasion?” my father asked over his shoulder.

“Yeah, I think so.” I hiked up the armful of garment bags. “I have to head back to work. I’ll see you Friday.”

I gave him a peck on the cheek and dashed out the door before Rebecca could rope me into any other expectations.