Page 57 of Glitched Play

"Dara?"

"No, I’m here to see you."

“Me?”

Noelle lifts one shoulder, completely unbothered.

I take the coffee she offers because caffeine feels safer than trying to understand O'Ryan family logistics before nine in the morning. "Did he tell you I was here?"

"Technically, yes."

Technically?

That word never means anything simple.

Noelle walks farther into the penthouse, her gaze sweeping over my abandoned laptop, my pixel-heart mug, and the dress I bought online out of panic that is currently draped over the back of a chair. Her mouth presses into a sympathetic line.

"Oh, honey. No."

I stiffen. "What?"

"It’s black tie."

"I know."

"That dress says you don't."

I look at the dress like it might defend itself. It does not. "I was going to figure it out."

"No, you weren't." Noelle sets her tote on the island, pushes her sunglasses up into her blonde hair, and gives me a look that somehow manages to be kind and terrifying at the same time. "You were going to panic, buy something safe, hate every picture taken of you, and spend the whole night tugging at fabric instead of letting everyone see how brilliant you are."

My throat tightens a little because that is painfully specific.

"Did Dara send you?"

"No."

"Then how did you know?"

Noelle's smile softens into something quieter. "Witt mentioned you didn't have anything for the gala."

I freeze with my coffee halfway to my mouth.

Witt mentioned me. To his sister.

About a dress.

Why does that feel bigger than it should?

"He did?"

"He said it like an operational problem," Noelle says, waving a hand. "Very dramatic. Very Witt. Something about you having two days and no suitable formalwear."

"That sounds... nice?"

"It was." Her eyes warm. "You just have to learn how to translate him."

I don't know what to say to that, so I take a drink of coffee and burn my tongue. Perfect. Wonderful. Very glamorous.