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Dodging bullets had been a lifelong forte of hers. If she could zigzag through the tremulous war zone established by Shelby Wellborn, she could certainly do the same with a hapless Errol Shepherd.
While checking the time, she noticed Mia had tried calling again. More time and privacy was needed for that conversation and now was not the time or the headspace she needed for that discussion.
Promising herself to call Mia tomorrow, as well as check on Pearl, she slipped into the naughty lingerie with a resigned sigh.
Looking down, she felt exposed. Vulnerable.
There was no way she was going to traipse through the hallway to Errol’s room wearing such revealing, and frankly uncomfortable, underwear. Dammit, she was classy.
Or if not classy, discerning.
So she pulled one of the silk robes out of her closet to cover herself, took a deep breath, and made her way to Errol’s room.
Lucas was inside her head, chanting about his fears of Errol’s late-night antics becoming more dangerous as she walked to the other side of the cavernous home. She had to pause in the hallway overlooking the living room to pick at the high-priced underwear making its way up her behind.
What in the hell was sexy about that?
Standing before the door to Errol’s bedroom, she chewed on her bottom lip, looking around for something to use as a weapon in case he wanted to take this whole thing to the next level. As Lucas had forewarned.
She found a lamp sitting atop an ornate gilt table in the hallway, and after a few strong pulls, yanked the cord from the base and tucked it inside one of the pockets of her robe. Just in case. She wasn’t sure how to go about strangling a person, but she’d seen a couple movies she could leverage as a point of reference, more for confidence than any reasonable sense of protection.
As usual, she walked inside the door and then hesitated. The audience of stuffed animals was missing. Ironically, their absence made her even more uncomfortable, her Spidey-Senses cropping up. The Spider-Man bedspread no longer covering the bed, but instead, a blood-red satin coverlet.
As a visual precursor to the Blame Game, the presence of child-like items had somehow indicated a twisted bit but benign experience, outside of the usual freakshow.
Without them, she wasn’t so sure.
The room was dark except for the dim light from a pair of table lamps, the bases with a pair of creepy vintage cherubs. She eyed the light peeking from beneath the bathroom door.
Something wasn’t right, and Lucas’s forewarning had her on high alert as she walked over to the window to check to see if the security team was lurking nearby.
As if they’d help her. Fat chance. They were contracted to keep her from escaping rather than to come to her assistance.
Nope. She was on her own.
Shocker.
She pursed her lips and fisted the cord in the pocket of her robe. Maybe she could quietly exit the room, locking her bedroom door behind her. Telling Errol she had a migraine.
Also concerning, Ariana wasn’t home. Supposedly attending a philanthropic function. Quite the stretch for a number of reasons, and Birdie was sure tonight was meticulously planned by Errol due to Ariana’s absence.
She had to remember Pearl and the vile institution where Errol had sent her sweet friend for the sole purpose of spiting her. She couldn’t let Marshall down again by allowing Pearl to be used as if a disposable chess piece.
There was also Angus and Mia to consider. Errol had managed to hurt them before, and he could do it again, potentially with a fatal outcome this time. She couldn’t take that chance either, not until they all had something to use against him and Ariana.
Her eyes scanned the room for other signs of lecherous activities that would land outside her comfort zone. Other than the shiny silk duvet turned down on the bed with the over-the-top velvet headboard and a glass and chrome cart fully stocked with liquor, nothing was out of sorts from your normal everyday Hollywood seduction scene.
Outside, of course, of her cobalt-blue peep show underneath her robe.
The sheer, scratchy lace panties were giving her an abundance of problems, and she contorted her lower region, hoping she could resolve the issue but with little success. Seems she managed to wedge that strip of cloth farther between her lady parts.
How anyone found this contraption remotely sexy was beyond her. It felt like she was strapped up in some type of torture device, biting and pinching her in all the wrong places.
Just as before, the door to the bathroom opened, and Errol walked out with a look she couldn’t quite translate, wearing a gold silk robe with a tie at the waist and his hands in the pockets. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Um, what exactly are we doing? Never got the script.” Appearing blasé was her go-to coping mechanism.
“What do you think we’re doing?”
