Page 27 of Pawn

“Y’know, this is also your fault!” Her eyes narrow at me again, a squint of gold and she’s lucky her sister is here. “Your stupid fucking deal. Nancy wants us to go to the Mayor’s Ball.”

“Right, the one hosted by the Huangs,” I confirm. “That’s tonight.”

Jo sits up. “It’s hosted by Cindy and Edwin? Lea’s parents?”

“The Supreme Squad?” Willow asks. Jo opens the door wider, pulling Willow on her lap so she can close the door.

Jo groans, “Great.”

“It gets better,” Willow says. “She’s threatening to kick us out if we don’t go.”

“Move in with me,” I say. Not like I haven’t already asked her to. “You don’t even sleep there anymore.”

“Yeah, because you’re holding me hostage in your own home,” Jo groans. “Great way to move in together.”

“Wait, he’s what?” Willow looks between us but Jo knows I’m doing this for her own good. I can’t have any detectives showing up at the Archibalds’ when I’m not there. Not a chance. I’m not letting them get to my girl.

Jo ignores her sister. “I’m not moving in with you like this.”

“Then I’ll be your date.”

“You can bring dates?” Willow asks. “Can I bring Jordan?”

“Jordan?” Jo scrunches her nose. “If the Huangs are hosting it, won’t he already be there?”

“Then I guess it makes it easy for him to be my date then doesn’t it?”

“I didn’t agree to bring dates,” Jo argues.

“I’m your date,” I growl.

“No.”

Fuck. “Let me be your date and I’ll tell Georgina and her squad to back off.”

“You wouldn’t do it otherwise?”

“Not when I have a deal you can’t say no to,” I smirk. “What’ll it be, Jo? Sinister swim classes or a date with the King?”

Her eyes hit the ceiling before she lets out a groan, “Fuck my life.”

* * *

“There are our girls!”

Nancy’s voice fills the lobby when we enter the venue, Willow behind us.

“Here we go,” Jo mutters, Jordan appearing next to Willow in a suit that matches her shiny gold dress.

He pulls her away as Nancy rushes towards us, coming out of the golden ballroom with a silver gown on her fair skin. She eyes Jo’s outfit before she twists her nose. “Good enough. You’re here. Please. Come.”

“Good enough?” I repeat.

Jo looks like the goddess she is in a silky black gown that clings to her frame. Like a vintage pinup doll with her plump red lips and her curls pinned to one side. Nancy looks over her shoulder, waving me off as she ushers Jo into the main room through giant white doors.

Grabbing a glass of champagne from a server in the typical attire, bowtie and vest, I follow them inside the room. A chandelier sparkles above the shiny spacious dancefloor, white-clothed tables surrounding it. People gather in conversation on it instead of dancing. Like Eric and some men in penguin suits laughing to one side.

Nancy looks behind her again, pointy chin my way. “I didn’t mean you too, Damien.”

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