Page 174 of Cashmere Cruelty

For a moment, Petra’s mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. I wonder how she’s gonna do it: single bullet to the head? Knives? How long do I get to pray for my immortal soul?

But, surprisingly, she doesn’t snuff me out. Not yet, at least. She just up a finger and growls, “One wrong move?—”

“And I’m sleeping with the fishes,” I rush to finish. “Understood.”

Still narrowing her eyes at me, Petra finally lets go. “No funny business,” she reiterates. “And turn around while I change!”

I face the door and exhale, forcing my heart to slow.Calm down. Keep your cool, April. This is all for Nugget.

I listen in for any sign of someone coming in. But with the guests all converging towards the runway, I doubt the staff’s got time to powder their faces. If this is anything like the time I assisted Elias here, the hostesses for both sides of the event must be running around like headless chickens.

That’s when it finally dawns on me:Holy shit, I’m pulling a heist.

I glance at the clock on the wall. Somewhere, a part of me is still holding out hope. Hope that Matvey will come for me.

“I’m done.”

I turn. The uniform fits her nicely enough—bit tight around the waist, maybe, which is odd, since Petra’s figure is nothing to scoff at. But then again, this is the fashion industry we’re talking about. Size eight means two sizes too big.

“Why didIhave to do this?” she complains. “Why not you?”

“I mean…” I point at my gigantic pregnant belly. “Do you see a uniform lying around that can cover upthis?”

Begrudgingly, Petra concedes. “Fine. But if you try anything?—”

“Fishes, sleep—I know.”

When she grabs my arm again, I don’t make a move. No matter how much I want to run, it would be pointless to even try.

If only Matvey were here.I shake that thought away. Matveyisn’there. I can’t rely on him to save me over and over again.

This time, I’m gonna have to save myself.

Petra side-eyes me. “What next?”

“Now, you escort me to the bathroom.”

“Excuse me?”

I sigh, exasperated. “You’re staff. I’m pregnant. You’re escorting me to a bathroom—that’s our cover story. Unless you’d rather broadcast our status as thieves?”

“Jeez, fine.” She rolls her eyes. “No need to be such a bitch about it.”

“Say that again when you’re kidnapped,” I mutter, unable to stop myself. “We’ll see how you like it then.”

Something flashes across her face then—something like guilt. But it’s gone as fast as it came. “Let’s get on with it.”

Silently, we leave the locker room behind.

It takes less than two minutes for a burly man to come charging at us. “You!” he barks. “What are you doing here?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Petra twitch for her knives. I don’t have time to think about self-preservation. So I do the only thing I can think of: I elbow her in the ribs,hard.

“Sorry!” I yelp at the newcomer. “I wasn’t feeling well. She was just—escorting me.”

For a second, I wonder if Petra’s going to kill two birds with one stone. Like, literally.

Then I feel her grip relax just a little.

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