Page 7 of The Allure of Ruins

I had never been the kind of person who thought girl instead of woman, but in this case, it fit. Her outfit conveyed grown-up, but one look told me she was very young. And more importantly, very uncomfortable.

Her left arm was across her chest, almost like she was hugging herself, and in her right hand was a filled-to-the-brim glass of champagne. Clearly, she had not come from the same grueling day the rest of us had, as she was wearing a tiny skintight black dress that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Dumont, standing too close, was the cause of her distress, as evidenced by the slight steps she took back. All that ended up doing was to bump her into another man, dressed like Dumont, in a suit with a dress shirt and no tie. He too turned and smiled, also too close, looming over her.

“You know what, Libby,” I said softly, passing her the plate I’d filled with food, “I really am happy working for Gates.”

“What?” she asked, horrified.

Moving quickly, I made it to the girl’s side at the same time Dumont closed his hand around her upper arm.

“Becky, is that you?” I said far too loudly, using a weird high-pitched, excited voice, stepping in front of her, jostling her on purpose so that the champagne never stood a chance. Some of it splashed me—which was fine, I was wearing jeans, an old Henley, and sneakers that had seen better days—but the rest got on the sleeve of the very expensive bespoke Italian suit Dumont was wearing.

Dumont yelled and recoiled. His buddy bumped me out of the way as he passed me to grab napkins from the table to our left. As both men were distracted, I put my hand out for the girl, offering, and the second she took my hand, I led her away.

I didn’t stop moving, and walked her all the way to one end of the long kitchen before rounding on her. “Are you okay?”

She seemed stunned.

“I had to get you outta there, am I right?”

“Ohmygod,” she whimpered, putting the almost empty flute on the counter before launching herself at me. It wasn’t hard. In her three-inch stilettos, we were more or less the same height, both of us hovering near five-nine.

I hugged her back, able to, as she was a woman. With men, I could only manage a brief clench before the pressure, the holding, even the suggestion of restraint, started to make me queasy. Always, I had to step away quickly. It was not at all the same when a woman embraced me and so I waited until she was ready to let me go.

“Who are you? What’s with the dress? Are you here alone?” I fired the questions at her quickly, my concern making me panicky. “Also, why are you talking to men twice your age? Are you in trouble? Do you need help?”

It took her a moment, and I understood that. I’d asked a lot of questions all at once.

Deep breath out. “I’m Janelle, Winston’s daughter, and I’m waiting for my friends to show up. We’re going to a party at our friend Ruben’s house in River North.”

My scowl was automatic. “Aren’t you, like, fourteen?”

Her eyes got big like an anime character. “I’m seventeen,” she said firmly, defensively, like how dare I.

“Girl,” I said, because for starters, she still was one, and secondly, she needed to wake up. “Did your father see this outfit?”

“Yes,” she stated, her voice rising.

I crossed my arms, squinting at her. “If you go out to a club with your fake-ass ID, if someone puts something in your drink and then walks you out of there, that’s it. No one will ever see you again.” She opened her mouth to say something. “Yes, in a perfect society where every man respected every woman, and vice versa, we’d never have to worry about that scenario, but that’s not where we’re currently at, is it?”

“I told you I’m going to a house party?”

I tipped my head.

“Fine,” she groused. “I’m going to a club.”

“I get the fake-ID thing. I had one too. But I’m fully prepared to narc to your father if you don’t go change.”

“I—”

“And make your friends change too before they get here,” I said, piling on another stipulation. “Because they have to come in to get you, and I want to see what everyone’s wearing before you go anywhere with them.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” she proclaimed haughtily.

I grinned. “You wanna be grounded until you’re, like, thirty-five?”

She bit her bottom lip.

“Well?”