Page 162 of A Little Crush
I blanch. “What?”
“No refunds, remember?” He gives a half-assed shrug. “But enjoy the party, yeah? Maybe eat something. You’re skin and bones.” He pats my shoulder, then turns back to his curvy conquest. “Now, where were we?” The asshole dives back in for another kiss, leaving me speechless.
Seriously?
My nostrils flare, and I tap his shoulder, pulling a low grumble from him as he ends the kiss and faces me.
“You’re pushing your luck, sweetheart.”
“He paid you like two hours ago?—”
“Roman!” Ford calls, ignoring me completely and making my blood boil even more.
Before he has a chance to order his muscle man—the one who isn’t by the door—to throw me out, I weave through the crowd, well aware Ford is nothing but a dead end. The urge to curl into a ball and cry is so potent, my eyes burn, but I blink it away.
I can’t give up yet. Ican’t.
This is bad. This is very, very bad. What the hell am I supposed to do? I need that money. I need it if I want to move out and get away from my dad and The Drift and…shit.
My knees threaten to buckle, so I lean against the nearest wall.
I am so screwed.
If I could just…if I could rewind time for five hours, six tops, my dad wouldn’t have been able to snoop in my room and hand over the money, and Ford wouldn’t have ever had it in the first place. He’d still be on my dad’s ass instead of making out with a random girl at a party. Six hours. Why can’t I go back to earlier today?
Hell, Ford probably still has it. The money. There’s no way he’s already deposited it. My dad said he paid off his debt at tonight’s event, so it should still be here. Right? I glance over my shoulder, finding his mouth fused to the same girl as before. What if…what if I just…go get it? I need that money. And Ford said so himself; he’s a billionaire. It’s not like he’ll miss it. And even if he does, he won’t come after me. He’ll go after my dad. The person he should’ve gone after in the first place, because it’smymoney.
It’s. My. Money.
Slipping around another batch of people, I slink around the corner and up the stairs, praying Ford is too distracted by his hookup to notice me at all, let alone deduce where I’m headed.
The second floor doesn’t seem to be off-limits. There are plenty of people scattered like confetti around the entire house, so I should blend in.Shouldbeing the key word.
I reach the second floor and press my back to the nearest wall as a couple stumbles toward me. Their bodies are smashed together, their hands roaming like they’re very much alone and not in the middle of a crowded party with the closest bystander being me, a girl who’s two feet away.
At least they don’t notice me.
Shifting another foot to my right, I take in the handful of doors lining the walls on the second floor. Does one of them lead to an office or a safe or…something? Hell, even checking Ford’s room is better than nothing, isn’t it? What will he do if he finds me snooping in his personal space? If I hurry, I won’t need to find out. Hopefully. Pressing my ear to the closest door, I listen for any moaning, but am only met with silence. I think. It’s hella loud in this house. With a quick twist of the knob, I open the door and close it behind me.
Messy sheets top the king-size bed in the corner of the room. Two large windows frame each side. It’s just as opulent as the rest of the house, but with sharper edges and a cooler color palette. Is it Ford’s room? I sure as hell hope so. Now, where would someone keep five thousand dollars? I turn around, unsure what to do now that I’m here. In the enemy’s room. About to steal from him. From all of them.
Yeah, this isn’t a bad idea at all. Nope. Not one bit.
Despite the thrumming bass from the main floor, I tiptoe toward the tall dresser and search for a wad of cash.Mywad of cash. It’s worn and weathered and has spent plenty of time under my mattress as I scrounged and saved every penny, only for it to be stolen while I was at work.
I repeat:Asshole.
I let my fury fuel me, shuffling through the boxers, socks, and?—
A creak sounds behind me, and my body jolts. Twisting around, I close the drawer with my back as my heart threatens to jump out of my chest.
Shit.
At least it’s not Ford.
Not. Ford.
I’m not sure whether or not that’s a good thing. Not when the alternative’s dark eyes swallow me whole and pin me in place all at once. Who the hell is this guy? Is he pissed? Surprised? Does he know? Can he read it on my face? That I’m guilty as hell? Or maybe he’s curious. Curious why I’m here. In a bedroom. Alone. When there’s a rager going on downstairs. Okay, maybe curious isn’t a bad thing. Curious can be good. It means I might be able to lie my way out of this.
