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The manager had tactfully retreated. The two girls, disappointed by the prompt drop in our volume, finally turned back to a new rack, though I caught one of them still watching in the mirror’s reflection.

Chelsea sniffled, looking at the clothes in my arms, then at me. “Well…was it at least good?”

I bit my lip, unable to stop the blush. “Yes. It was.”

A genuine laugh burst out of her. “God, of course it was! Dammit.” She wiped her eyes, smearing mascara across her cheekbone. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! I tell you everything. Like... everything. Those two guys with the showerhead in Cabo? You know about that.”

“I know about the showerhead,” I unwillingly confirmed.

“And I literally threw myself on Noah for weeks at school—shit! I knew—I just knew it was going to be good!”

I rolled my eyes. It was no secret that Chelsea had tried her hardest to get Noah in bed.

She finally took a shaky breath, adjusting herself and wiping her face. “Okay. Okay. You’re still a lying hoe. But…” She reached out and plucked the leather skirt from my arms. “This would actually look incredible on you. With the black top. Not the red.”

I felt my shoulders drop, the tension melting off of me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And you’re buying. Rich guy fucks don’t count unless they actually pay for things.”

“Chelsea—”

“I’m kidding.” She grabbed the clothes from my hands, folding them over her arm. “Mostly. Now come on, those girls are still filming us for TikTok or whatever, and I refuse to go viral in this trashy ass mall.”

I sighed and took one final look around. Nothing that we had tried on or seen matched my style. I kept wondering if perhaps Chelsea was right about my personality. Maybe Noah only liked me for my body after all. Before I opened my mouth to complain again, I spotted something.

And I smiled.

Chapter twenty-five

Repo Man

SILAS

My day started normally. All day long I was pulled for tasks and errands. Signing contracts, formalizing accounts, working from the office. Managers in and out of my room to get my opinions on deals and ask for advice. Boring.

For hours, I stared at the desk I had fucked Noah on. What I’d give to have a replay—just one—of that night together. This office definitely wasn’t as fun without him.

He had left behind all of his gifts, but most specifically, the gold plane I had gotten for him. I kept it in the center of my desk—a constant symbol of hope that I’d see him again soon, and that maybe one day, we’d get the fuck out of here. I’d buy my way out of my Jace’s business and Noah would desert that poor excuse of a family.

And we would escape together.

It was fun to dream, wasn’t it?

The rapping on my door broke my trance, and I placed the plane in the desk drawer on impulse.

My cousin was at the door, paper envelope in hand, new tasks for me to complete.

“We have a house to paint after work today. Jace is sending you the spot.”

I stared at him, considering his comment. I wasn’t a painter, and I didn’t work on houses. Neither did most of the mob members who worked under Pinnacle. His comment was code. And it was code for something big. “Painting” meant that whoever was our hit tonight—things were about to get messy.

“Right. Who?”

“Internal contact.”

I swallowed. That wasn’t good either. Meaning it would have to be someone in the organization already.

Then it hit.