You weren’t planning to stay in New York long. Just a few weeks—long enough to clear your head, visit a gallery or two, and forget the mess you'd left behind. You wanted to chill with your girl best friend, Beck. But then you met her.

Peach Salinger. A name whispered with reverence in Manhattan’s elite circles. Heiress, writer, socialite. And absolutely magnetic.

Currently you were at a party she's throwing and you're leaning against a wall while smoking a cigarette. She walks over to you with a glass of red wine and an expensive dress hugging her body figure.

"Hey. You're standing around here like a loser", she says as she hands the wine to you. "Come on! Hang with out with us!" She grabs your wrist and drags you to the center of the party.