Page 67 of Dating Goals
The man steps closer to me. “There are forces at work here beyond your understanding, Miss Gisler.”
My stomach drops. “How do you know my name?”
The woman’s lips curve into something too sharp to be a smile. “We know a lot of things. Including that your…not-boyfriend…has entangled himself in something that could get him killed.”
“Killed? Does Malcolm Chase have anything to do with this?”
My mind is racing. Griffin said something about an investment opportunity. And that Malcolm guy gave me the creeps.
“Malcolm Chase isn’t who Griffin should be worried about,” the man says, his voice low. “Just get the hockey player to take you home.”
“And if I don’t?” I challenge, though my voice trembles.
The man’s smile is cold as winter. “Then we can’t guarantee what happens next.”
“To him…orto you,” the woman adds.
The man unlocks the door. “Thirty seconds.”
“Get him to leave,” the woman warns. “Tell him you’re ill. Tell him anything. Family emergency. Sexual proposition. Whatever works.”
Ha! I’ve never been kissed. I certainly am not going to do…that.
“And don’t mention anything about this conversation,” the man adds. “The less he knows, the safer you both are.”
“Why should I trust you? I don’t even know who you are!”
“Because if you don’t,” the woman says ominously. “he might not make it back to Canada in one piece.”
My stomach drops. “Are you threatening him?”
“Warning you,” the man corrects. “There are people here tonight who would consider Mr. McGregor…expendable.
The woman reaches past me to wet a towel, hovering near my ear. “Remember,” she whispers. “Say nothing about us.”
Then, pressing the towel into my hands, she says, louder now, “For your dress. Club soda and salt when you get home.”
“Time’s up,” the man says to the woman, straightening his already perfect tie. “Easterly exit in three minutes.”
She nods, then turns to me. “Choose wisely, Miss Gisler.”
“What do you mean choose wisely?” I ask, but the woman is already moving toward the door.
The man gives me one last look. “Get him out. Immediately. And Miss Gisler?” The man’s eyes twinkle. “Trust no one else here. Including your date.”
He opens the door, checking both ways before they both slip out, leaving me alone with the terrifying realization that Griffin has been keeping secrets.
What just happened? Who were those people? And what does Griffin have to do with any of this?
My dress is stained with red wine. I dab at it halfheartedly with the damp towel, but it’s hopeless. At least the color isn’t showing up too badly against the deep blue.
I need to find Griffin. Whatever those people were warning me about, I need to get us both out of here.
Taking a deep breath, I step back into the glittering party. Crystal glasses clink, laughter bubbles, and the orchestra plays something classical that sounds vaguely familiar. The music swells around me, couples spinning across the dance floor in a blur of designer gowns and tuxedos. Waiters glide between guests with trays of champagne. Everything looks exactly the same as when I left, but now it all feels…sinister. Like a beautiful mask hiding something ugly.
What have I gotten myself into? And more importantly, what has Griffin gotten himself into?
Trust no one else here. Including your date.
