Page 60 of SNOB

“You said your dad pulls the strings.”

His shoulders relax. “I sold my soul so he can fix this mess. Our mess.”

“So, why don’t we pull some strings of our own? You threw Beau’s phone out the window. He was recording that night. We can at least clear the evidence and try to clear our names. Or do you expect Daddy to do everything for you?”

“That phone could be anywhere. It could be in the middle of the forest.”

“Did you even try to call it? Someone could have found it."

His mouth flattens. My grin grows.

Reaching into a nearby locker, he pulls out a phone, tapping it as silence takes over the room. “This is stupid.” But he does it anyway.

You’re dodging what just happened.

I’m not. I swear. We can talk about whatever the fuck we’re doing later. Right now, we’ve got bigger shit to take care of.

“Hello?” My eyes widen when I hear a woman’s voice come through the phone. “Beau is missing, possibly dead. So, please stop calling unless you know something. Wait, do you know something?”

Mac ends the call.

“His mother…” Mac’s words trail. Then his eyes narrow.

“What’re you gonna do? Kill her too?”

“She’s going to my dad’s Benefactor’s Gala tomorrow. You’re coming.”

“First a hockey game, then a blowie, and now you’re inviting me to one of your elitist events?”

“You know what, Everett?” He leans forward, wiping my mouth with his thumb. “I like you better with my cock in your mouth.”

Knock, knock, knock!

My head whips to the door of my hotel suite, graphite pencil in hand. My sketchpad sits on the marble desk in front of me, the only thing keeping my eyes off the clock.

“Six-thirty. Be ready.”

His words repeat in my head and with no classes on my schedule today, waiting proves to be torturous. It’s like the first time Angelo asked me out. Butterflies. Sweaty pits. Nervous pacing. Except this time it feels more intense.

This isn’t a date.

I hate that I have to keep reminding myself with every passing hour.

Knock, knock, knock!

A man’s voice comes through the shiny wood of the hotel doors. “Concierge.”

Dropping my pencil, I move through the large space to answer. He greets me with a white garment bag, Valentino printed on the front. “For you, Miss Everett, from Mister McKinsley.”

“Thank you,” I say, unsure of what else to do with such high-class service. He gives me a small bow, and I give one in return before his brows furrow and he turns for the elevator.

The bag sits heavy when I drape it over my arm, carrying it to one of the sofas in the living area. Sitting beside it, my toes wiggle against the white fur carpet as I unzip the bag.

A long black velvet dress sits inside and when I remove it from the bag, it comes out like a long scroll. A smile tickles my face when I press it against my body, twirling around the room like a scene from a Disney film. I know Mac isn’t trying to charm me. He wants me to fit in with the rest of these pricks. But a girl can have a moment, can’t she?

Before I can get it on, my phone chimes.

“Get in that dress and get your ass downstairs, Everett.” Mac’s deep, rolling voice comes through the speaker.

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