Today we are sharing chapter one from GILT: ALL FALL DOWN by Geneva Lee. GILT: All Fall Down is a romantic suspense title, that is the third, and final, book in the GILT series. It will be released on October 31st! Be sure to check out the links below to pre-order and to purchase previous titles in this series.
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GILT: All Fall Down by Geneva Lee
Gilt Series, #3
Coming October 31st!
The stunning final book in the Gilt series. In Belle MΓ©re, sin and secrets go hand in hand, but when what happens in Vegas doesn’t stay there, no twisted secret will be safe. Everyone here has something to hide and a lot more to loose, including their lives.
When the Dealer plays his card, will they all fall down?
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CHAPTER ONE:
Chances are choices or something like that. Take for instance opening a door to find the last person you expect on the other side. You might choose to shut the door or feign surprise. A kinder person might give the guilty party across from them a gracious out.
But no one has ever accused me of being nice.
“Monroe.” I greet her by the name I know her as when she flies into the room. Then I remember myself. “I mean, May.”
May West. There’s a certain poetry to it. I wonder if she was being clever or if she’d unintentionally chosen such an infamous alias. Her usually stick-straight hair waves into soft curls over her shoulders and sheβs wearing enough eyeshadow to make a porn star blush. Sheβs gone from looking like an entitled seventeen year-old Houser to passing for a hard-used twenty-five-year-old showgirl. If we weren’t standing so closely I might not have recognized her as my fellow classmate, boyfriend’s sister, and, dare I add, psychotic bitch? We’d made some minor progress on that front of late but something told me this less than chance encounter would put us right back at square one.
Monroe tugs up the silver, sequined tube masquerading as a dress and glares at me. I have to give her credit. The momentary flash of fear that Iβd spotted when I opened the door is hidden behind a mask of annoyance.
βHow much?β she asks through gritted teeth.
βI thought I was the one who paid you.β I lean against the hotel door, closing it behind us. As soon as the lock clicks her eyes narrow.
βIβm not interested in your little jokes,β she hisses. βTell me how much you need to keep quiet.β
I blow a stream of air between my lips. βA pony. The lost city of Atlantis. Maybe a trip to see the Wizard.β
I donβt suffer from any misconceptions. If the situation were reversed, the Wicked Bitch of the West, aka my darling Monroe, wouldnβt hesitate to blast the news of my fall from virtue to every student at Belle MΓ©re Prep. But Iβm not here for that. Iβd come to this hotel room for one reason: The Dealer had led me here. A few days ago a mysterious new photo had shown up on The Dealerβs feed. I hadnβt expected it to lead me to an escort agency. When Iβd realized where I was Iβd gambled and pretended to be interested in a job. The ploy had worked, granting me enough time to schedule an appointment with May. The only clue The Dealer had attached to his post.
But why lead me here? What did Monroeβs extracurricular activities have to do with the night that Nathaniel West died. I thought the purpose of the Instagram account was to expose the killer. Iβm not so certain anymore. Unless The Dealerβs plan is simply to disgrace each of us as thoroughly as possible.
Monroe steps closer to me, jabbing a finger in my chest. βHow did you even find out?β
I sidle away and walk toward the minibar. Grabbing two tiny bottles of West Tennessee Whiskey I toss her one. She can play it cool but I know she needs liquid courage as much as I do.
She rolls her eyes when she reads the label and sashays over. βI prefer gin.β
βDoesnβt your family own West Tennessee Whiskey?β I ask as I screw off the cap and down mine in a single gulp. It blazes down my throat, lighting a fire in my stomach.
βYes, but my family owns everything.β Thereβs a brittle edge in her words but she swallows it down along with her shot of gin.
βWhat are you doing?β I ask her and suddenly this isnβt an interrogation. Iβm not trying to pry information out of here. Instead I find myself wanting to shake her. I may have no love for Monroe West, but I know what this would do to her family. I liked her mother, but I was in love with her brother. With everything the two of them have been through this year, this might destroy the fragile threads holding their family together.
βWhy would you care?β
Thatβs a cry for help if Iβve ever heard one. βBecause The Dealer sent me here, which means that anyone else whoβs following his posts could have opened that door.β
Itβs only a matter of time before the police and FBI caught on to the account. That would be bad enough but the handful of people already following the mysterious feed wanted to know the identity of our friendly neighborhood stalker, too. The Dealer hasnβt been posting our proudest moments so no one has started sharing the picturesβyet.
βWhat does he have on you?β she asks, her eyes flash as if something important has finally occurred to her.
So much for hoping that Monroe is as smart as she looks. Iβd had my suspicions that the blonde, air-head heiress act was for show, now I know it is. If Iβm following The Dealer closely enough to wind up here itβs not out of curiosity.
I shrug. Two blondes can play dumb.
βMaybe the proof that Mackey is looking for.β She pours another glass, but she doesnβt down it this time. Sipping thoughtfully, she watches me for a sign that sheβs right.
βSorry to disappoint you, but heβs got nothing.β None of the photos on the feed seemed directed at me, but plenty of them focused on people around me. Of course, the company I keep has as good as convicted me in the eyes of the FBI. βI know what it will take for me to keep quiet.β
βYes?β she snaps. For a second, Iβd almost swear her eyes flash a demonic red but thatβs probably just me.
βThe truth.β If Monroe expects me to keep quiet about this discovery than Iβm going to need to know why sheβs doing it in the first place.
βThe truth is in short supply these days.β She drops into a chair and stares out the window at the sparkling city lights. Even in the daylight, Vegas flashes its best smile, calling tourists to come hither with promises of good luck and good fortune. Monroeβs gaze grows distant as if sheβs as lost to this city as anyone else.
βWhy?β I continue. βYou have everything. Why throw it away?β
βYou think Iβm throwing it away?β Her head whips around so she can glare directly at me. βDo you know what Vegas is? A place for dreamers. Itβs easy to lose your way here. Ask your daddy.β
βAsk yours,β I counter coldly.
She flinches but shrugs it off with a hollow laugh. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she goes on. βYou can either lose yourself or you can make yourself.β
Iβm pretty certain that Monroe West already has it made, but I keep the thought to myself. If I keep provoking her, Iβll never get my answer.
βMy father made himself into a mogul. Everyone expects me to spend the rest of my life in the spa or shopping. I donβt have to work.β Her eyes flicker over to check if Iβm listening. I nod for her to continue. βBut I donβt want to be another parasitic heiress. God knows the world has enough of those.β
βYou want to be a hooker instead?β The question slips out, and I clamp my mouth shut. When you operate at my level of sarcasm, itβs hard to contain it.
βIβm not a hooker,β she says with a withering look.
βEscort,β I correct myself, tacking on a βsorry.β
βMy father made his fortune on gamblers. He made money on money. Jameson gets to take over that empire. No work. No hardship. Itβs just his.β
βI doubt he sees it that way.βDefensiveness flares in my chest at the mention of my boyfriend.
βOf course not. He, like most men, has the luxury of being able to complain about his circumstances while still taking advantage of them.β She wags her finger at the space between us. βWe donβt.β
Now Iβm in the same class as Monroe? Will wonders never cease? Although, I donβt expect that our two girl Breakfast Club is going to meet again after we leave this room.
βThereβs plenty of money in Vegas. Itβs almost an insult to make money on money.β
βSo youβre going to make money off sex?β I guess.
βIβm going to build my empire on sex,β she corrects me. βThe youngest madame in Vegas history. Iβve learned the trade from some of the best, and letβs face it, Iβm well-educated.β
I thought back to English class. I suppose you donβt need a spectacular grasp of the classics to run an escort agency.
βI wonβt have any competition.β She leaves the last statement lingering in the air as bait.
I bite. βAnd why is that?β
βBecause theyβll all be terrified that Iβll reveal that they employed me while I was underage. Instead Iβll get to play the part of business savant,β she concludes.
She already has the part of idiot down, I think.
Monroe studies me for a moment. No doubt wondering what I think of her now. βIf things donβt work out with Jameson, I might have a job for you.β
βI donβt think we should be in business together,β I say dryly. Having Monroe as my high school enemy and my pimp is a bit much to swallow.
βYou know where to find me,β she says, unfazed. βIf youβll excuse me, I have better things to do with my day and you must haveβ¦something to do with yours.β
Like your brother.
When she leaves I settle onto the bed and stare at the ceiling above. Various shapes emerge from the spackle like pieces of a mysterious puzzle. There was one question I didnβt think to ask Monroe: why would The Dealer want to out her? Iβm beginning to question if my eyes were playing tricks on me before. I check my phone for a response but there is none. When I open Instagram, the photo is gone.
It looks like The Dealer got my message and made a move after all. It should be a victory but instead it feels like Iβve painted a big target on my back.
My sandals click across the marble floor of the West Resort lobby. Slot machines ring out in the distance and even here I can taste the stale cigarette smoke from the casino floor. Itβs the same as every hotel and casino in this town. Arguably a little nicer than most. So why is it the current epicenter for crime in a city thatβs no stranger to vice?
This is where the mystery began for me. Is this where it started for a murderer as well? Itβs hard to believe that months have passed since the deadly party that dragged me into this world. I hadnβt even wanted to go, but my best friend, Josie, who desperately wants to be in with the cool crowd, shanghaied me into attending Monroe Westβs end of the year party. It was supposed to be a celebration of the last day of our junior yearβone that I wasnβt invited to attend.
We crashed, and Iβd be lying if I said that I didnβt enjoy the look on Monroeβs face when she caught me. The two of us had never gotten along, especially after Monroe screwed my boyfriend in front of half of our freshman class. It had been war between the two of us ever since, and trespassing on her party was a declaration of battle. Iβd wanted to leave after the confrontation, but instead of tracking down Josie, I met someone. He was a stranger, but something about him put me at ease. Weβd spent the night together. Not in the Biblical sense but pretty damn close. The next morning he was gone.
As if waking up alone in my best enemyβs house wasnβt bad enough, Iβd been forced to hitch a ride with my ex-boyfriend, Jonas, and his smarmy best friend, Hugo. I thought that was the end to a night Iβd rather forgetβuntil news broke out that Nathaniel West had been murdered.
The prime suspects? Everyone whoβd been at his daughterβs party. I might have gotten away with a simple questioning until I found out that the guy Iβd shacked up with that night was Jameson Westβthe heir to the West fortune and the victimβs son. Obviously I have questionable taste in men. Not as strange as my best friend, Josieβs penchant for older men, a vice that sent her to some dudeβs hotel room and left me needing an alibi.
Jameson was everyoneβs number one suspect, even mine. Especially after he started showing up wherever I was. Despite his stalker tendencies, I decided to find out for myself. I never expected to fall in love with him.
I know heβs innocent, but that hasnβt removed either of us from suspicion in the eyes of the FBI. So when a mysterious Instagram account ran by someone known only as The Dealer started posting incriminating photos of Belle Mere Prepβs most likely to be a murderer list, I took it upon myself to investigate. I need to clear our names, and I can only do that if I figure out who killed Nathaniel West.
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PREVIOUS BOOK IN THE SERIES
GILT: By Invitation Only (Gilt Series, #1)
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GILT: Sin Never Sleeps (Gilt Series, #2)
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Geneva Lee is the New York Times, USA Today, and Internationally bestselling author of the Royals Saga. She likes writing steamy scenes almost as much as imagining crazy ways to torture her characters. Geneva travels frequently, never says no to champagne, and spends more time with fictional people than living, breathing ones. She lives her husband and two children.
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