Page 56 of Crush

“Otherwise, we’re gonna have to drive into the city and go to a mall.” Aiko’s voice barrels into my thoughts. “Or shop online.”

“No time.” I finish my coffee and chuck it in the nearest garbage bin. “Barely There, it is.”

Aiko huffs with laughter. “Thorne’s about to go insane.”

“Exactly.” I link arms with Aiko and cross the street.

Add Zeke to my arm, and…

Thorne might just turn murderous.

24

Ember

I settle on a red minidress, leaving nothing to the imagination. My goal is to blend in with all the other Winthorpe students dressed for Halloween—naughty and rebellious, our sexuality released from the stifling school uniform.

Its wet, satiny sheen cups and lifts my ass, stopping at the point where you might see my crotch if I sit down. The front is a deep v-cut with a small, fake diamond brooch that connects it between my breasts before narrowing just above my belly button.

There’s definitely no room for a bra, and I’m currently in the midst of forcing underwear beneath the tight fabric.

Once the thong is hiked around my hips, I return to my closet, stepping up to the floor-length mirror and checking all my angles.

Dammit. My thong lines appear like arrows on each side of my waist. I’ll have to go commando tonight and avoid all chairs.

Not that Thorne will welcome me into his home long enough to sit down. I expect to stay for enough time to sneak around Damion’s office, then scram. I can sit all I want when I get home.

Ah, no—not home. I correct myself. When I get to Weatherby Manor.

My phone chirps from its position on my unmade bed, and I wander over to it, smiling when I see Aiko’s thumbs-up emoji. She’s hoping I find a connection to Savannah tonight, but I’m looking for something a little more specific. I’m hoping to find a connection to the spreadsheet.

Malcolm is under Damion’s control somehow. That much is clear with Malcolm’s ex-wife, whom he’s clearly still in love with, and she him, on Damion’s arm. It’s not foolish to believe Malcolm could be holding a document under Damion’s instruction. Or that Savannah found something she shouldn’t have and paid for it with her life.

I’m pretty sure I’m the only one still looking for her who believes she’s dead.

Moving the phone, I hover it near my chest, then by my hips, realizing I’m not fitting it anywhere on my person. Aiko would have a fit if there was no way to contact me tonight, but the odds are sky-high that Malcolm tracks me via my phone. I’ll have to leave it here. If she needs me or I her, we can communicate through Zeke’s phone. I text her exactly that.

Once finished typing out a brief message to Aiko, I grab my furry horns from the bedside table and slide the attached headband behind my ears, pushing my straightened blond hair away from my face.

In another smooth motion, I grab Malcolm’s black blazer, folded neatly at the foot of my bed by Dash after I requested its use. The blazer is big, bulky, and sure to hide anything I might find in Damion’s study. I cap off my fashion moment by sliding on black heels, then perch on my bed and wait.

Zeke arrives right on time. I hear Dash’s low voice greeting him, and I clamor up on my stilettos and walk down the hallway until I’m at the top of the staircase.

Both Zeke and Dash glance up at my arrival. Even from this distance, I notice Zeke’s eyes bulge behind his Zorro mask. Dash clears a stuck cough from his throat.

“Erm, uh, your guest is here, Miss Ember. I’m sure you won’t be surprised to learn that Mr. Weatherby would prefer if you two sat in the drawing room and not … your bedroom.”

The very sentence has Dash shifting uncomfortably.

“Of course.” Despite my glaringly slutty outfit poking out from between the open blazer, I smile demurely and head down the stairs.

I worry for only one second over Dash spilling my outfit choice to Malcolm before I picture Dash having to describe my costume to the master of the manor. That alone might be worth the punishment.

Once I reach the bottom, Dash melts into the shadows but keeps his face forward, his dark eyes tracking my steps toward Zeke and making his distrust clear.

“Thanks for covering for me tonight,” I murmur to Zeke, who smiles.

“It was as easy as impersonating my father’s voice when Malcolm called,” he murmurs back, taking my elbow and twisting us to the left.