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12
At 7PM, Connor and I dressed in front of the mirrors in our bedroom. I was looking particularly good in my Prada ‘little black dress’ with spaghetti straps.
“Do we have to go to this?” Connor groused.
There was a fancy-shmancy charity event at 8PM, an environmental shindig thrown in honor of Connor and his solar company.
“It’ll be fun,” I said.
“Liar,” he teased.
“You promised the people running it.”
“Yeah, but do I have to go?”
“Sebastian organized this to counteract Miranda, and it’s even more important now that she’s going to bring that class-action lawsuit in Nevada. He’ll kill you if you don’t go.”
Connor sighed. “Isn’t there a better reason?”
“Than not getting killed by Sebastian?”
“Yeah.”
“Free booze.”
“Oh, well, by all means, let’s go, then,” he said in a deadpan voice. “I mean, free booze.”
“Speaking of which…”
“What, free booze?”
“Miranda.”
“Ah, my favorite topic,” he said darkly.
“Why do you antagonize her?”
He looked at me in shock. “What?!”
I tried to backtrack. “I mean, I know why you do it – ”
“How about because she tried to have me killed? Or because she threatened you? Or because she’s a bitch-and-a-half who’s trying to ruin my business plans?”
I remembered the way she looked at me in answer to Connor’s question, What will you give me for backing off?
I won’t destroy you,she’d said.
Like a fairytale villain.
Or a boogeyman in a story.
Or the devil himself.
I shivered at the memory of her dead, emotionless eyes staring into my soul.
“She’s dangerous,” I murmured.
“So am I,” Connor said, with a decidedly vicious glint in his eyes. “And a hell of a lot more dangerous than her.”
