Free Just Once by Julianna Keyes Page A

say my day has been worse.”
    “That’s what I was hearing.”
    I down the shot. “What did you hear?”
    “That you’re a slave driver.”
    I nod and pour a second shot. My last one, definitely. “That’s not too far off.”
    “Why’d you come back here?” Lisa asks.
    “To the bar?”
    She shakes her head, and I down the second shot, wincing as I bite down on the lemon.
    “I came back for a change of pace,” I say finally. “I needed things to slow down a little, get my head on straight.”
    “Why? Weren’t you in Hong Kong or something?”
    I shrug. “It wasn’t really a place I was trying to leave. More like…a pattern.”
    “Of what?”
    That’s a hard question to answer. No one likes to hear a rich person complain about how hard it is to be rich. I mean, on paper my life was awesome: free travel, the best hotels, great food, interesting people, shows, and concerts. Then there’s the first-class flights, champagne, and designer clothes. And for a while it was awesome. But somehow, gradually, I started to love those things less. I didn’t eat a great meal and feel fancy, didn’t put on expensive shoes and feel like a queen. I started to feel empty and lonely and old.
    Self-pity is unattractive on anyone, but it’s extremely unattractive on a wealthy blonde in seven-hundred-dollar heels, so I kept those thoughts to myself and let them fester. Even if I had wanted to share them, I wouldn’t have known where to turn. Sure, I had friends—acquaintances, really—but I kept them at a distance. It’s only in these past six months that Stanley and I have become close, though I’ve known him for ten years. I’d made and lost so many friends in my travels that it never seemed worth opening up to anybody. But I can’t tell Lisa all this, though I appreciate her asking.
    “I just realized I wanted something else,” I eventually answer.
    “Like what?”
    I give a dry laugh. “Good question.”
    I put the tequila away, and it’s Lisa’s turn to sigh sadly.
    “What about you?” I ask. “What brought you out here?”
    “Janie.”
    “You’re sisters?” With their long blond hair and big blue eyes, they’re the very image of American apple pie.
    “Cousins,” she corrects. “We’re starting college in the fall, and she wants us to pledge together. I made the mistake of telling her I wasn’t sure I wanted to be in a sorority and next thing I know she’s handing me a plane ticket and telling me we’re working at a dude ranch for the summer. A dude ranch!”
    I can’t help but laugh at her dismay. “Interesting choice of punishment.”
    “I don’t even know what she was thinking,” Lisa moans. “I mean, we don’t know anything about horses…or cleaning.”
    “No kidding.”
    “And she hates it here. Like, she flirts with the wranglers, but…I don’t know. She’s not really meant for working.”
    “What about you?”
    Lisa looks around, confused. “What about me?”
    “Do you hate it here?”
    “Um…I don’t know.”
    What should have been a statement comes out as more of a question. While it’s hard for me to relate to someone—anyone—not loving it here, even on days like this, I can empathize with feeling like you don’t know where you belong.
    “Give it time,” I tell her. “It’ll get better.”
    “What if it doesn’t?”
    “You’ve got a plane ticket, don’t you? It has to end sometime.”

Chapter Six
    J ANIE A ND B ECCA G IVE M E the silent treatment throughout dinner service. Hailey’s on dish duty and because Lisa’s still upstairs mourning her bruised face (and the lack of tequila with which to drink away her pain), I help run the food.
    Carrying trays of five or six plates was hard enough last time I did this, but today I find it positively exhausting. My feet are aching, and I’m bitter as I watch Janie and Becca dart around easily, beaming and laughing with the guests, then turning the evil eye on me when they catch me looking. I sigh. I yelled