Then Ginger walks away, and moments later, I step out of my office.
Ghost leans back in his chair, processing the footage. “Okay,” he says slowly. “That… explains a lot.”
My jaw grinds together, the muscles tensing painfully. “That fucking bitch.”
I slam my palm against the desk, frustration pouring out of me. “She told Emma we fucked.”
Ghost nods, his expression serious. “Looks like it.”
My anger flares again—at Ginger, at Emma, at the whole damn situation. “She didn’t even let me explain,” I snap.
Ghost shrugs slightly, his tone pragmatic. “From her perspective…” He gestures to the screen. “…it looked pretty convincing.”
I drag a hand down my face in exasperation. “Where the hell did Ginger even come from? I was in the bathroom.”
Ghost rewinds the footage slightly, revealing Ginger slipping into my office. Two minutes later, she walks out. He whistles softly. “Bold move.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, my eyes narrowing. “Too bold.”
Ghost studies the footage again, his brow furrowing. “You gonna deal with her?”
“Oh, I’m dealing with her.” I push off the desk, determination propelling me forward. “Come on.”
We leave the office, moving back through the bar. I scan every corner, every booth, and every dance floor, but there’s no sign of her.
“Where the hell did she go?” Riot asks when we reach the bar area, concern creeping into his voice.
“No idea,” Ghost mutters, frustration evident.
Diesel steps over, his expression serious. “What’s going on?”
“Ginger told Emma we fucked,” I say flatly, the weight of the situation heavy on my chest.
Diesel’s eyebrows shoot up in shock. “Jesus.”
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I glance at the screen to find Emma’s name flashing. I freeze.
Decline.
It rings again.
Decline.
A third time.
Decline.
Ghost glances at me, concern etched on his face. “You gonna answer her?”
“Not right now,” I reply, my patience fraying.
Ginger is nowhere in the building, which makes zero sense. I barely interact with her; why the hell would she pull something like that?
“I barely fucking know her. Why would she pretend we fucked?” I say aloud, frustration spilling over.
Riot shrugs, trying to lighten the mood. “Club girls do dumb shit.”
But Diesel goes still, his expression shifting to something more serious. He slowly looks up, a realization dawning. “What if…” he begins, and all of us turn toward him, curiosity piqued.
