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Gretta pouts but wiggles her brows. “Who’d you kill or fuck?”
I snort and roll my eyes.
“Oh, did you do both? Naughty Zora.” She smirks and flicks my bag. “At least let me see the outfit.”
I sigh and open my bag, flashing the sparkling gown and diamonds at her.
Gretta gasps and practically snatches my earrings out.
I snap the bag shut and level a stern look at her. “I’ll pay you when I want product, not before.”
Gretta taps her fingers on her flower cart with a wistful look. “I would look absolutelyeatablein a gown like that.” She bats her eyelashes at me. “Are you sure you can’t share?”
“It cost me a full thread,” I protest. After giving a second to The Prince, I really can’t afford to buy another dress when the time comes.
“Zora, just let me give it a night out on the town.” Gretta flicks an annoyed wave toward the busy street. “Gronem needs some beauty tonight.”
I chew on my lip but concede. “Fine, but this is on loan, Gretta. Do you understand? No drink stains or tears.”
Her face twists as if I hit her. “How am I to be ravished then?”
“Slowly, with the dress discarded into a neat fold off to the side,” I say, but my lips quirk. I know I’ll never see this dress again, but giving it to Gretta is well worth the stories I know she’ll tell me about the night tomorrow.
“You’re no fun, Zora. Anyone ever tell you that?” Gretta asks, but she’s smiling too, her fingers scrunching open and close toward me in a ‘gimme’ motion.
I pull off my bag and deposit it in her hands. “I want every detail.”
“Kiss and always tell Zora. That’s my motto,” Gretta agrees as she hugs the bag to her chest. “Thank you, beautiful.”
“Don’t call me that. You’ll ruin my reputation,” I mumble.
“Oh sorry,” Gretta says with sarcasm. Then, with a purr, she amends, “Beautifulbadass.”
I give her shoulder a light punch and turn away. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I call back to her as I leave.
“Okay, I’ll slit a few throats just for you!” Gretta sings over the crowd.
I laugh but hurry my pace, realizing the moon is past its highest peak in the sky.Fuck, I’m late. I move into a jog and weave between drunken hoards of people, slowing when I reach my employer’s townhome. It’s one of the few refurbished builds in the city, and along its perimeter — if one were to look hard enough — burly men are stationed here and there to guard the place.
I run a hand over my hair and straighten my corset before I knock on the door twice, wait a moment, then knock a third and final time.
A hole slides open at the top of the door, and two eyes peer out to take me in. They grunt their approval, and the door whips open to reveal a tall, muscled man in all black.
“Zora,” he grunts.
“Felix,” I say, keeping my voice level and emotionless. Any smiles or laughter I shared with Gretta are pushed deep down as Felix leads me up a set of carpeted stairs and into a main living area.
In a tall-backed chair by the fireplace sits my employer: The Beast. He’s a lean man with sharp features and dark eyes behind a navy mask. He stands at my arrival and faces me, pressing down his well-tailored suit as he does so. Gold rings glint along his fingers, and each of his nails is accented in a similar golden hue. Earrings drip from his ears like a waterfall, sparkling in gold and silver, some with little diamonds on their length. They peak out beneath a mane of slicked-back golden hair. He’s the picture of wealth, but it isn’t the jewels or his mask that signifies being the top Boss — orusedto be before The Prince — it’s his exposed left arm, his suit sleeve cut off on the one side. From his elbow to his wrist is almost inked in solid black, tattoos overlapping each other as proofs of sale.
The Beast offers me a charming smile. “Zora, is it done?”
“His name is The Prince,” I present upfront. “But there’s more.”
His eyes glitter with that prospect. “More?”
“I’d like a full thread, instead of the half we discussed,” I explain.
The Beast’s smile tightens, but he nods.
