𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 | 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧

００１．

Tourists made Sainte-Anne stifling.

They flooded in with their fistfuls of money, throwing it at street vendors and tourist shops. And then they came to the clubs, where they spent the rest of their money on promises of hangovers and promises of highs.

Ren hated the tourists. But she loved their money.

The younger ones were her favorite clients. Teenagers and twenty-somethings, dragged across an ocean for their parents' idea of a relaxing vacation. They always came searching for a release from the dysfunction of their rich families, and Ren was there to offer it with a smile and a dime bag near-spilling with cocaine.

The other locals of Sainte-Anne called it tourist season. Ren and the rest of the Valetta family called it profit season.

And profit she did, tucking yet another hundred-dollar bill into her bag as a happy customer strode off, a gram closer to actually enjoying his trip. He cast a parting grin over his shoulder at Ren, bordering too close to flirty, and she made no effort to appear pleasant as she held his gaze.

She'd made the sale. No use pretending to give a fuck once she'd gotten her money.

"Try to look a little more miserable," Vanessa laughed as she slid onto the bench beside Ren, balancing a couple of too-full shot glasses between her fingers.

Ren shrugged as she accepted one. "I smiled."

"Right. You smiled once." Vanessa cast her a pointed look before clinking her glass against Ren's and downing the shot, that pretty grin pasted to her face as though her throat didn't sting in the wake of the liquor.

Ren could not control her expression so easily. She wrinkled her nose as the burn of the vodka slid down her throat and settled deep in her chest, an unwelcome warmth.

"I smile enough to make money," she fired back at her friend once she'd recovered. "Don't want to overdo it, you know?"

Vanessa snorted, nodding her agreement with raised brows as she leaned back into the bench and looked out over the crowd of drunk, dancing people. Ren followed her gaze.

Some were too drunk, having long since passed the point where they should have started ordering water rather than cocktails. Some were clinging desperately to waking after a long day of sunning themselves on the white sands of the beach and a longer night of dancing. Some, against all odds, held themselves as though they'd only just begun their partying.

The sun was not far from rising, and still, her father's club was packed. Music still thrummed, so loud that she was certain it could be heard for blocks, and people still drank. Still scrambled over to the high-backed bench Ren sat at, shoving their bills in her face as they begged for a pick-me-up.

She was running low on product. A good thing, because she'd sold well beyond what her father required for her to make a cut, but a bad thing as more and more people began to look her way in hopes of a quick bump to keep them on their feet. She sighed, running a hand through her dark hair as she realized that she would be making the walk across the island to her father's villa for more product before she would be able to sleep.

It was a hard job, dealing drugs for her father. Truly.

"I'm going to get something with caffeine," Ren said as she pushed herself to her feet.

Vanessa watched her go, calling out a last-minute request for a Mai Tai as Ren disappeared into the crowd.

Reaching the bar was a battle in itself. Ren elbowed her way through the writhing crowd, skirting out of the reach of entitled men and overly-friendly women with a scowl. When she finally reached the bar, she was forced to grip its edge to haul herself through the bodies.