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“Well, that was my second choice,” I murmured.
She smiled, and opened her mouth to speak, but I never heard her words.
“Asher! What the hell?”
Leonard’s nasally voice hit me like a gut punch. My asshole manager and pain in my ass. He was standing near the edge of the roof. I hadn’t seen him approaching. Too wrapped up in Winter DeLaurie and the elusive peek under the mask of the most mysterious girl I’d ever met.
We both scrambled to our feet. I stood on the end of the joint to hide it, but it was too late. Leonard reached out and grabbed the envelope with the rest of Winter’s stash.
“What the fuck, Asher? Miss DeLaurie, …I have to tell your father about this. It’s against the rules of the club.”
“No, you can’t,” Winter said quickly, pink flushing her cheeks. She was rattled. Alarmed.
“I have no choice,” Leonard said in an apologetic tone.
I sensed Winter’s thoughts racing. Her hands were shaking, and then they formed into fists.
Her gaze cleared, and she turned that crystal gaze to mine. I could see her mind was made up. Foreboding snuck up my spine. No fucking way. Second chances were always a mistake. Every fucking time.
She tore her eyes away from mine and turned back to Leonard. She straightened her shoulders and threw her head back, once again regal and poised.
Her voice rang out, sealing my goddamn fate. “It’s not my fault. None of it is…the drugs are his. They’re all Asher’s.”
Winter
The manager sent me back to my table, apologizing the entire way for a staff member stepping out of line and being so unprofessional.
“It’s not a big deal, just don’t tell my dad.” I tried to keep the plea out my voice. Either way, I was fucked at this point. If Leonard told my dad, he’d be disappointed. If Leonard blamed Asher, he’d hate me.
I was used to Asher hating me and ignoring me. But my dad? His love for me was a finite thing. Precious and in short supply. Fragile. He was the only person I trusted in the world, and without the four annual visits I managed to get from him, I didn’t know what would happen to me.
I was subdued for the rest of dinner, nervous and antsy, wondering what the hell was going on with Asher. He’d probably be fine. Leonard seemed like a reasonable guy.
“And where did you sneak off to? You know it’s rude not to share?” Trent murmured beside me.
I was toying with a piece of birthday cake, pushing it around the plate again and again. “Nowhere.”
“Liar. Why don’t you make an excuse again, and we can get rid of the old folks,” Trent suggested and rested his hand on my thigh.
His skin was so hot and clammy the moist heat sank through my satin dress. I moved immediately, trying to dislodge it.
“Pass. You’re not my type,” I muttered.
I tried to subtly move his hand, but he held on. Sinking his fingers hard into my skin, he halted my wriggling. Pain lanced up my leg. I gasped, gripping his wrist. His fingers were pressing so hard there’d be bruises.
“What are you doing?” I panted, trying not to attract attention. I didn’t think it would go down well with the parents to tell them Trent was mauling me under the table. Somehow, he’d make it my fault.
“Just taking the chance to educate you about something pretty straightforward…so easy to understand, even you can manage it. I don’t give a fuck about your type. You — Winter, apple of Charles’ eye — are my type, and that’s the only thing that matters.”
He pressed harder for a moment, and everything around me fell away except the pain.
He smiled, enjoying my reaction. “Got it?”
The second his hand released my thigh, I pushed my chair back, breathing hard.
“Winter?” Mom asked, eyeing me curiously. “What is it?”
“I’m just tired, all the champagne, you know…I think it’s gone to my head,” I stammered.
