“And lose.” Gianni takes a bite of his pancakes the second they’re set in front of him. “Listen. I built that engine from the ground up. I know what she’s capable of.”
Eliza sets her fork down with a clamor. “Why is it that men always refer to their cars as ‘she’?”
“Because she’s sexy as hell.” Gianni winks. Bella crinkles her nose in teenage disgust.
“Cringe.”
But as they bicker, I just smile. And I find my eyes stinging again. As chaotic as it all is, I miss this. I love this. I have to maintain this.
No matter what it costs.
The penthouse is quiet when I get back and toss my purse on the counter. That’s when I notice surprise number two. This time, it’s a white box with a black ribbon.
And this time, there is a tag on it.
I kick off my shoes and pad over to investigate when my phone goes off. Mindlessly, I answer it, not even bothering to look at the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“Amara!” Electra’s voice cuts through, sounding both exasperated and relieved. “Jesus, woman, did you fall off the planet again? Or let me guess—tight ass has you working overtimeagain.”
“Both,” I say, playing with the ribbon for a moment. Whatever it is, it’s fancy as fuck.
“Whatever,” she rattles off. “Find something to wear. Because we are going out tonight.”
“Where?” I ask as I turn the tag over to read it.
We are going out tonight. It’s a masquerade. Be ready at eight.
— Ransome
“I was thinking Ace’s. Or the Blue Olive. Yes, let’s go to the Blue Olive. I got some new heels that need to be broken in by drunken dancing and I think it’s salsa night.”
I set the phone to speaker and place it on the counter so I can open the box. It’s a red sequined dress. No, not a dress—a gown. Paired with it is a black, feathered partial mask.
“I can’t,” I say distantly, my attention one million percent on the thousands of sequins in my hands.
“What do you mean you can’t?” she blurts out. “Amara, we haven’t been out in ages.”
“I know. I just… I have dinner plans. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Dinner plans?” She zeroes in on the words like a hound on a scent. “With who?”
“It’s business.”
Electra lets out a persecuted sigh. “Fine. Tomorrow. That works anyway because we are going to meet with some people.”
“Okay,” I say as I run my thumb over the handwriting on the tag.
Ransome. He wrote Ransome. Not Mr. Rozanov. Not R.R., as he sometimes does on business letters.Ransome.
“Okay, cool. Mulligans. And don’t ghost! You’re my best friend and I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” I say before hanging up. And I do. But right now, my life is a little complicated. It’s hot and cold and dangerous.
And, apparently, covered in sequins.
25
