Page 8 of Beneath the Hood

I come up blank.

So even though I should say no, Iwantto say no… I say yes instead.

How bad can it be?

5

Blakely

Sweat drips down my brow, and I soak in the feeling as it coats my skin. Glancing at my Apple watch, I check how many calories I’ve burned.Seven-hundred and three.Once I get to one thousand, I’ll stop. Realistically, I’d love to hit at least fifteen hundred, but time won’t allow it. I ramp up the intensity on the treadmill.

Tonight, I’m making an appearance at Club Ransom, and while I’m so exhausted I may need to glue my eyelids open, I bask in the chaos of a constantly busy schedule. It keeps me from standing still—and every still moment is a wasted second.

“You need to be in makeup at seven. We’ll arrive to Ransom at eight-thirty. Twenty minutes on the press line, ten minutes for pictures, then you’ll be taken inside to host. They want an hour minimum of you up front… Blakely, are you with me?” Sierra snaps her fingers in my face.

I nod along, her voice drowning out the tap of my feet as they slap against the treadmill. “Who’s the DJ tonight?” I huff out.

“DJ Andelo.”

My brows draw in. “Am I supposed to know him?”

Sierra shrugs. “I don’t think you’ve met.” She spins, pulling two hangers from the rack of clothes set up behind her. “Now, do you want to go with the Amber Allen or the Retzy top?”

Iwantto wear my sweats, but that definitely wouldn’t draw the right attention. I can see the headlines now.

“Let’s go with the Retzy.” I’ve been putting off wearing it because I know once I do, I won’t see it again, and it’s one of my favorite pieces.

I’ve never been photographed in the same outfit twice.

The doorbell rings—most likely my glam team—and Sierra rushes out of the gym to let them in.

I glance over at Lennox, who’s currently lounging in the corner at a small table, his buzzed head buried in a worn paperback ofDracula.My father hired him on when I was a kid, and even though I’ve spent more time with him than anyone else, we might as well be strangers. All I know about him is he’s thirty-three, and he’s extremely skilled in fighting. When he’s not at my side, he’s lost in a book, and sometimes I feel envy crawl through my chest, wishing I could take his place and lose myself between the pages of someone else’s story.

But there’s no time for that.

My phone vibrates from where it’s resting in the treadmill’s cup holder. I snatch it up quickly, wondering who would be texting me that isn’t already in the house.

Jackson: Still want some company tonight?

My heart skips. I slow the treadmill for a two-minute cooldown as I text him back.

Me: …are you fucking with me?

Jackson: Nope. Are you taking back your invitation?

I chew on my lip as I contemplate how to respond. When I asked him to come with, I didn’t expect him to say yes. The truth is, going to these clubs isn’t a party, it’s an obligation.

Me: It’s not really going to be fun. I’ll be working.

Jackson: Working? At the club?

Me: Yeah... I didn’t think you’d take my offer seriously. I don’t think you’ll have a good time. :(

The treadmill beeps as it comes to a stop, and I stand there for a few long seconds, waiting for him to text back. I’m caught off guard by him texting me, and even more so by him wanting to hang out. Something takes flight inside me at the thought, soaring through my chest and whipping around my stomach.

Jackson: Look, your dad wants me there. Make it easier on both of us and just let me tag along to keep an eye on you, princess.

I inhale sharply, hurt shocking the breath from my lungs.Of course, there’s an ulterior motive.Silly me, thinking he’d had a change of heart. For just a second, I consider telling him to go fuck himself. But as much shit as I give Jackson, I don’t want him on my father’s bad side.

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