Page 63 of Have To Be Mine

I clenched my teeth together. “Close enough. Let’s go, ladies.”

They didn’t move. Dash found me and touched my arm. I flinched and pulled away. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ve got a driver waiting.”

“We need to shut down the crawl,” I said. “Cancel the rest of the stops. Get the driver to round them all up and take them back to the hotel.”

“They’re going to be pissed.”

“They’re going to be pissed when they get arrested for causing a public disturbance. At least this way they won’t end up in jail or going viral for all the wrong reasons. This looks bad for Blackwell. Negative publicity is not what you want.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my God, you guys, this place is amazing!” one of the influencers slurred into the camera her friend was holding. “Mykonos is literally the best! Thank you, Blackwell Couture, for this incredible experience!”

She spun around, lost her balance, and face-planted directly into a table.

Dash and I looked at each other.

“I’ll get the driver,” he said.

“I’ll start damage control.”

We split up. I went back inside and started the impossible task of herding drunk models and influencers toward the exit. It was like trying to herd cats. Drunk, beautiful, social media-obsessed cats who kept stopping to take selfies.

“Come on,” I said to one of them. “We need to go.”

“But we just got here!”

“No, you’ve been here for an hour. It’s time to move to the next location.”

That was a lie, but it worked. The promise of somewhere new got them moving. I managed to get about half of them outside before I realized the other half had migrated to the back patio where they’d discovered a hookah bar.

Somehow, I managed to get them to follow me to the door. Dash was loading a half-naked woman into the back of a van.

“I’ve got five more,” I said.

“Get them in,” he said. It took some doing, but we got them in the van. The driver had explicit instructions to get them to the hotel and to their rooms. Dash had given the guy a fat tip to do exactly that. I just hoped like hell they didn’t escape.

“The others are across the street,” I said.

We headed into the club. Our people were scattered throughout.

“Divide and conquer,” Dash said.

I grabbed the next influencer with pink hair and a crop top that barely qualified as clothing. I steered her toward the exit.

“But I haven’t finished my drink!” she whined.

“Leave it,” I snapped.

“You’re mean.”

“I’m aware. Move.”

The bass was so loud I felt it in my chest. Right there in the middle of the dance floor were four of our influencers bumping and grinding on each other. It wasn’t pretty.

I waded into the crowd, my skin screaming with every brush against another body. Someone’s drink sloshed onto my shoulder. I didn’t even care anymore.