Page 54 of Fire Fight

“She talked to me extensively before she died,” the woman continues, pushing the card at me.

Elaine Ngata. Journalist.

Not that her profession means the hooks she’s dangling are baited with the truth. I’ve read my fair share of clickbait and tabloids.

“I’ve been gathering information to write a piece on Arnold Fletcher for quite some time and would love if you had a few minutes to talk.”

My lips clamp together, and I shift again. The request—hell, just herpresence—making me deeply uncomfortable.

“No, thank you.”

I try to return the card, but she holds up her hand. “My cell’s on the back. Call anytime.”

“Mum!”

Elaine abruptly stands, walking out the door and I go to the window, watching as she leaves the premises.

“What was that?” Mum calls out to me, circling her finger near her ear. “Didn’t catch a word, sorry.”

I think of Arnold’s face as he pinched me. The dizzying switch from mild to vicious then back again. On the scale of harm, it hardly counts as violence. Not of the type Elaine alluded to.

Just last week, Hudson reacted worse to his brother’s snarky comment, dragging him out of the room in a fit of temper, and nobody’s writing a book aboutthat.

The fact she approached me instead of waiting for my mother points to her being underhanded. A woman who’d turn a molehill into a mountain, taking shelter behind her journalistic byline and opaque sources.

And if I ignore her, there won’t be repercussions. It’s not like she’s camped outside the house, taking invasive photos every time we try to leave.

I shove the card deep into my pocket, turning to my mother with a broad smile. “Nothing important.”

Back home,Mum nudges me towards a short summer dress when I would have chosen jeans.

I feel like she’s mentoring me in the ancient ways of dating as she discourages the addition of a denim jacket by pointing out if it’s cold, he’ll have the perfect excuse to wrap his arms around me to keep me warm.

My nerves tingle with anticipation as I put the finishing touches to my makeup, primp my hair one last time, then sit to adjust my strappy sandals, making sure the vegan leather ties lie flat.

Perfect.

The light chill means my arms are a second away from breaking into goosebumps, and I rub them before taking one last look in the mirror. Feeling pretty.

“Going to a gangbang, are you?” Drake asks as I sidle past him in the hallway.

I tilt my nose in the air, determined not to let him get to me.

Meanwhile, my eyes are filthy traitors, gazing at the snug fit of his jeans while my head fills with images from the most X-rated of my dreams.

And maybe a shred of me would be disappointed if he didn’t make some revolting comment. It’s practically a compliment.

“I’ll pass your regards on to everyone involved. Maybe put your name forward if they’re looking for a mope. That’s about your skill level, isn’t it?”

His arm sweeps out to block me, palm hitting against the wall. But I must be growing used to him, foreseeing the move. I easily duck underneath and give him both middle fingers beforeI escape to the stairs. Holding tight to the railing as I walk down, a self-satisfied smile on my face.

Between the dress and the makeover, I look and feel like a different, flashier, richer version of myself. When Hudson arrives to collect me, his face reflects the same and I blush while he gives a low whistle.

When he places his hand on my lower back, escorting me to the car, Mum flashes me a thumbs-up sign from the kitchen window, grinning from ear to ear.

Hudson is the perfect date, keeping up a stream of questions about my day while he’s driving, then rushing around to open my door once we’re in the mall parking garage. Even planting a kiss on the back of my hand while his eyes roam farther afield.

“Can we get a large popcorn?” I ask when we join the queue for snacks. “I love the butter.”

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