Page 38

There’s no way I’m going out in this. If I were to spill something on it or snag it on the chair, I’d never be able to pay him back. The last thing I need is to be in debt to him.

I go to my closet, sliding the doors over only to find an entirely empty rack. Well, it would’ve been better if it were completely empty; there’s a note taped to the back wall and a rose hanging from the rod.

Nice try, darling. I’ll return these after our date.

— Ghost

I let out a strangled groan and slap the flower to the ground, stomping on it like a five-year-old throwing a tantrum.

“Goddamn it, Preston!”

There’s a knock on the door; the driver is getting impatient, I assume.

I hate him for doing this. I have no choice but to put myself back into the dress.

With a gentle reminder, I tell myself I’m doing it for the girl in the mirror who needs to believe she has some agency left. That she’s more than a victim of the rotation of abusive men in her life.

I slip on the matching heels he included, because of course he did.

The knocks don’t stop now, and I sigh as I leave the house, letting him lead me to the vehicle. He opens the door for me, and I don’t hesitate; I step into the leather interior as if I belong there. Tonight, I will play Preston’s game again, but that doesn’t mean I have to play by his rules.

13

Ghost

Isit alone in the private dining room of Le Jardin. It’s a city over from Harris and is one of the finest restaurants the area has to offer. And at the moment, the quietest. Candlelight flickers in gold sconces along the paneled walls. The shadows on the tablecloth are as restless as I’m beginning to feel.

Her seat remains empty. It’s mocking me along with the empty, untouched wine glass and the oversized bouquet of red roses.

I check my watch again. 7:32. She’s late.

I told David to bring her, to drag her by her hair if he had to. I didn’t really mean it; I’d sever his hands if he even thought about touching her in that way. On top of that, I’m not in the business of having men wrestle women into cars.

The ice in our water begins to melt, leaving rings of condensation on the linen. I reserved this room for hours and paid extra for all the privacy so that I could have a conversation with her. And she’s not fucking here.

Finally, I give in, pouring wine into my own glass and filling hers as well. I try hard not to grind my teeth as I intently stare down the doorway, trying to materialize her out of thin air.

I take a sip of the wine, one I’d specifically chosen for tonight. It’s just a more expensive version of the ten-dollar one she gets from the liquor store. I want to show her that I’m paying attention not just to her, but to the things she enjoys.

I must be the fucking manifesting king, because there she is.

My breath unwillingly pauses, as if all the air has been sucked from the room. The soft jazz music overhead goes silent, and the flames on the candles still.

Wynnie steps through the doorway with a demeanor that makes her look like she’s walking up to battle. Her shoulders are squared, chin up, and the thin gash on her left cheek is adorned with war paint. The dress clings to her with devastating precision. Jewels sparkle against her collarbone, catching the candlelight with every move of her chest, while the slit up her leg reveals just enough to make my imagination go wild.

It’s physically painful how beautiful she looks.

I stand as she approaches, buttoning my jacket more out of reflex than manners. The subconscious motion gives me a moment to compose myself and remember why we’re here.

“You…” I murmur, walking around to pull her chair out. “Are stunning.”

She gives me a look that can freeze fire before she pushes the bouquet onto the floor. I want to reprimand her for doing it, but I continue, pretending I didn’t even notice.

“Actually, stunning doesn’t even begin to cover it,” I correct myself.

The way her look avoids me, and she keeps her head angled away from me, revealing that delicate jawline, I can tell she’s playing this like a game of chess. I’ve never wanted to lose at anything more in my life. Losing is something I can’t afford, though.

“This dress is too much. I left the tag on it so you can return it. No way I’m keeping it,” she says, still keeping her eyes downcast.