Page 31 of Masks and Mishaps

“Listen,” I pitch, leaning forward, “I’m not looking to make things complicated. Let’s agree on a schedule and a timeline. Clear parameters. Boundaries.”

Dalton considers me. “It’s a partnership,” he finally states.

“Exactly. No mess and minimal repercussions. We’ll wear masks and stay anonymous, and we’ll pre-record as much content as we can. Then, I’ll slowly release it until I graduate and start working full-time.”

“Estimate?” he responds like we’re talking prices out in the bullpen.

“My earnings will go down once the novelty wears off, but with the quality of your…assets, the drop won’t be precipitous. This is going to make both of us a ton of money.”

“Even with the cut the site takes?” he questions, and the derision is apparent in his tone. I’d only mentioned it in passing, but apparently the site’s cut bugged him.

“Yes.”

Dalton rests his chin on his hand and looks down. He’s uncharacteristically quiet, but eventually, he raises his head and says, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a worse idea, which is saying something because Cabrera recommended we try a Ponzi scheme if we’re concerned about payroll.”

“This money would change my life.”

“Money?” he demands. “If it’s about paying for Georgetown, let me handle it. I’ll pay your tuition, I’ll pay for Christian’s criminology degree,andI’ll pay for Luis and Tommy to go to MIT. I’ll put all four of you through grad school if that’s what it takes.”

“Absolutely not.”

He folds his arms over his chest. “Are you seriously too prideful to accept money you need?”

“We’ll do it until the wedding,” I say, uncrossing my legs and crossing them in the other direction to distract him—and it totally works because his eyes dip downwards and linger. “Four weeks. That way, you won’t be my stepbrother when we’re filming. Hannington-Hale makes offers in December, so by the time I give my final internship presentation, we’ll be done with our contract. See? Not messy.”

“But I can’t fuck you without bringing feelings into it. You know how I feel about you. I haven’t even been with anyone else since I met you.”

The confession makes me inhale so forcefully that my nose stings. “Wait,what?”

“I haven’t been with anyone since I met you,” he repeats word for word—and it’s so Dalton to say it twice. No obfuscation, no games. He just says it—and his expression darkens. “Have you been fucking a lot of people, Essie?”

I don’t respond. I’ve fucked Valeria and Cora during collaborations, but aside from them, I haven’t been with anyone either.

“Did they make it good for you?” he goes on, not waiting for an answer. “Did they pinch your nipples the way you like? No—don’t do that. Don’t look surprised. You know I know what you like, Emerald X.”

“It’s just sex.”

“You and I would be different. Do you really think you wouldn’t want more from me? Because I would always want more from you.”

“I could handle it.”

Dalton’s expression is skeptical. “You could sit on Lander and Valeria’s couch and watch a movie without remembering me on my knees for you, licking every inch of your nipples?”

My nipples are little sluts for immediately hardening at the memory. I swallow, suppressing my reaction. “Doesn’t mean I’d act on it.”

“And after four weeks, you could move on?” he continues, and his fingers go back to tracing his armrest with slow, lazy circles. “You could spend the rest of your life as my friend and stepsister and possibly colleague, knowing that for one month, we did everything together?”

“Dalton—”

“Everything,” he emphasizes, keeping his lips parted after he says the word. Then he wets them with his tongue before he says, “Because if you give me a month, Essie, I’m going to do everything to you. Not with you—to you.”

I cross my arms. He taught me how to make deals, so I know he’s trying to force a reaction from me. He has two plays:

The first: He remembers everything—a skill I’ve never seen anyone else wield quite so effectively. If I lie, he’ll catch me.

The second: He’s a charismatic but chaotic motherfucker, like a cross between a golden retriever and a centuries-old dragon who’s been bored since the Crusades. I cannot react. If I do, he’ll mirror my reaction and amplify it until I’m too riled up to be rational.

Luckily, I have three younger brothers; I could gray rock a hurricane.

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