Page 164 of Mile High Ruin

“You ignore constantly.”

“That’s different.”

She studies me with obvious amusement. “I’m impressed.”

“I will try to survive.”

Her smile changes slightly. Warmer.

That’s becoming dangerous too.

Later, when I send a dress to her room, I tell myself it’s because everyone will be dressed for dinner and she came here with almost nothing.

That explanation lasts approximately thirty seconds.

The truth is that I saw the dress two days ago when one of the stylists brought several options for Mila and Nadia, and I immediately imagined Sloane wearing it.

So I bought it.

I don’t tell her that.

I’m in my study before dinner when the door opens without a knock.

I look up. Then forget the report in front of me entirely.

Sloane stands in the doorway wearing the dress. It’s black, fitted close through the waist and hips, with a low neckline and thin straps that leave most of her shoulders bare. The fabric falls to mid-thigh and clings enough that there’s no ambiguity about the shape of her body beneath it.

She has left her hair down.

She closes the door behind her. “You bought this.”

“Yes.”

“It was on my bed.”

“I’m familiar with the delivery system.”

She walks farther into the room. “You could have told me.”

“I just did.”

Her eyes narrow.

Then she turns once, slowly, showing me the back. The dress dips low enough to expose almost all of it.

I stop pretending to read. “Sloane.”

“What?”

“You know what.”

She looks over her shoulder. “No.”

Liar.

I stand. She watches me approach. The room feels smaller with every step.

“You chose this on purpose,” she says.