‘Cause seriously, I’m getting tired of going out for nothing. We go to these places for photo ops so your dad can pretend like he doesn’t have shares in everything in the city and he’s not using you to make money. Because that would be tacky and your father would never be tacky, out loud.” Nat mocks me as we click our heels along the pavement from the limo to the club entrance. She’s gotten so much easier about going to clubs now that we’re almost of age to be drinking. She actually likes going out. But I don’t. I dislike it even more now. I don’t glance at the huge lineup. I don’t care who’s here. I want in and out. “Face in the papers,” I groan. “Dad told the owner I would come this weekend. We only have to stay an hour. Then we can sneak out the back and go eat carbs, drink wine, and watch a movie.” I wink but she doesn't seem impressed. “But I put on heels and makeup and I look pretty. Can we go to a fun club after this one?” “You’re the Paper Bag Princess.
