My nostrils flare, and I tap his shoulder, pulling a low grumble from him as he ends the kiss and faces me.
“You’re pushing your luck, sweetheart.”
“He paid you like two hours ago?—”
“Roman!” Ford calls, ignoring me completely and making my blood boil even more.
Before he has a chance to order his muscle man—the one who isn’t by the door—to throw me out, I weave through the crowd, well aware Ford is nothing but a dead end. What the hell do I do now? He won’t even listen. The urge to curl into a ball and cry is so potent, my eyes burn, but I blink it away, determined to find a solution, even if it kills me.
I can’t give up yet. Ican’t.
This is bad. This is very, very bad. What the hell am I supposed to do? I need the money. It’s my only way out. Out of The Drift and far, far away from my dad.
My knees threaten to buckle, so I lean against the nearest wall.
I am so screwed.
If I could just…if I could rewind time for five hours—six tops—my dad wouldn’t have been able to snoop in my room, find my life savings, and hand over the money. And Ford? He would never have had it in the first place. He’d still be on my dad’s ass about paying him back instead of making out with a random girl at a party. Six hours. Why can’t I go back to earlier today?
I know I’ve never been lucky, but this? This takes the cake. Hell, Ford probably still has it. The money. There’s no way he’s already deposited it. My dad said he paid off his debt at tonight’s event, so it should still be here. Right? I glance over my shoulder, finding Ford’s mouth still fused to the same girl. What if…what if I just…go get it? I need that money. And Ford said so himself; he’s a billionaire. It’s not like he’ll miss it. And even if he does, he won’t come after me. He’ll go after my dad. The person he should’ve gone after in the first place because it’smymoney.
It’s. My. Money.
Slipping around another batch of people, I slink around the corner and up the stairs. Maybe Ford is too distracted by his hookup to notice me at all, let alone deduce where I’m headed. Right? I need to hurry.
The second floor doesn’t seem to be off-limits. There are plenty of people scattered like confetti around the entire house, so I should blend in.Shouldbeing the key word.
I reach the second floor and press my back to the nearest wall as a couple stumbles toward me. Their bodies are smashed together, hands roaming like they’re very much alone and not in the middle of a crowded party with the closest bystander being me, a girl who’s two feet away.
At least they don’t notice me.
Shifting another foot to my right, I take in the handful of doors lining the walls. Does one of them lead to an office or a safe or…something? Hell, even checking Ford’s room is better than nothing, isn’t it? I wonder what he’ll do if he finds mesnooping in his personal space. If I hurry, I won’t need to find out.
Hopefully.
Pressing my ear to the closest door, I listen for any moaning but am only met with silence. I think. It’s hella loud in this house.
With a quick twist of the knob, I open the door and close it behind me.
Messy sheets top the king-size bed in the corner of the room. Two large windows frame each side. It’s as opulent as the rest of the house, but with sharper edges and a cooler color palette. Is this Ford’s room? I sure as hell hope so. Now, where would someone keep five thousand dollars? I turn around, unsure what to do now that I’m here. In the enemy’s room. About to steal from him. From all of them.
Yeah, this isn’t a bad idea at all. Nope. Not one little bit.
Despite the thrumming bass from the main floor, I tiptoe toward the tall dresser and search for a wad of cash.Mywad of cash. It’s worn and weathered and has spent plenty of time under my mattress as I scrounged and saved every penny, only for it to be stolen while I was at work.
I repeat:Asshole.
My fury fuels me while I shuffle through the boxers, socks, and?—
A creak sounds behind me, and my body jolts. Twisting around, I close the drawer with my back as my heart threatens to jump out of my chest.
Shit.
Tall guy. Broad shoulders. Sharp jaw with a bit of scruff.
At least it’s not Ford.
Not. Ford.
