Page 15 of Double Dare

I shake my head at her back. “No.”

She stops with a small laugh. “Baby girl, you can’t tell me one thing when my eyes see another.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She pulls a red lace number from the rack and turns around. “You’re in his house, he’s having me style you,andyou’re going to an event with him tonight. Adrian doesn’t have friends—only people who work for him—and none of them live with him or get styled by me.”

When she hands me the dress, I take it. “Things aren’t always what they appear.”

“Mhm.”

Tipping my head, I look her dead in her eyes. It’s clear there is something between them. “If you’re so convinced I’m with him or whatever”—I wave my hand—“then why are you fucking him?”

She laughs. “I don’t even like men, Danica. You’re more my type.” She winks.

Suddenly, the jealousy fades, and I feel like a dumbass. “Oh.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t have a death wish, so I promise not to hit on you.” She laughs again, reassuring me. “Now, try that on.”

I nod and turn my back to her, then slip off my corset and fishnets. Pulling the dress up, I feel her move behind me and slide the zipper up. “It’s kind of tight.”

Turning me around, she eyes me up and down. “No. It’s perfect. He’ll love it.”

I scoff. “If he didn’t love my outfit before”—I point to the pile of skimpy clothes I took off on the floor—“he won’t give a shit about this.”

“Adrian is different,” she starts, moving to the jewelry. “Very hot and cold, but I can tell by the way he looks at you that you’re special.”

“Special? He’s threatened my life more than he’s spoken actual words to me.”

Grabbing a diamond necklace and matching earrings, she turns back to me and helps me put them on. “But he hasn’t killed you yet.”

I stop and think for a moment. Maybe she’s right. He says one thing, then does another, and out of all the threats he’s made, he hasn’t followed through with a single one. Maybe I am gaining some headway in this fucked-up game.

“Don’t think too hard about it, baby girl. Trust when I say you’re making an impact on him. I’ve worked for him for three years now, and he’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you.”

“And what way is that?”

She lowers her eyes with a smirk. “With eyes full of murder and mischief and a hard dick. Now, let’s get your hair and makeup done.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

DANICA

Pulling up to the club, I’m thankful we’ll be surrounded by people. Not because it will keep Adrian from doing anything stupid because he clearly doesn’t care, but because he’s gone back to the silent treatment, and it will be nice to have some sort of conversation with anyone. At this point, I’d talk to the fucking wall if it could talk back.

When I left my room in the tight, lace dress, my dark hair curled perfectly with every makeup product invented on my face, I was sure he wouldn’t be able to resist me. On top of Samantha’s kind words, I felt really confident. But when she presented me to him, all he gave was a simple nod before looking back down at his phone. Even the entire way here, he hasn’t even looked in my direction. All he’s done is send out text messages or answer calls.

From what I’ve gathered, it’s the opening of this place, and Bruce has some investors, as he calls them, scouting things out. They want to see how Adrian works under pressure since the Clarks—the rival family in the city—will also be attending. It’s simply a battle between the two of them to see which gets the money these “investors” are willing to pay for one of three things: guns, drugs, or murder, and there is no telling what it is. At least, I haven’t been able to figure it out.

As the SUV comes to a halt, he finally shoves his phone in his pocket and looks at me. “I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

“Oh, you’re talking to me now?” I reply, sliding over the seat so I can step out behind him as he opens the door.

Sucking in a deep breath, he turns to me. “Danica, tonight isn’t the night to be a feisty bitch. You can continue your bullshit when we get home.”

Home. The word coming from his lips has me feeling giddy in a sense. I have a home of my own, of course, but hearing him essentially call what’s his mine makes me feel I’m getting somewhere. Maybe I can make him love me.

Crossing my arms, I laugh and push the thoughts away. I need to keep playing his game—not get hung up on the stupid picture of love that doesn’t exist in my head. “Tonight isn’t the night, yet, when I’m not feeling it, it doesn’t stop you. Why should I try and play nice when you won’t?”

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