by A. J. Logan
Stepping into the closet, I hang the garment bag containing the gorgeous navy dress on the hook in the rear of the closet next to the full-length mirror. I’d just tried the dress on at the store hours ago, but I’m itching to put it back on already. Unzipping the garment bag, I strip off my clothes, and pull the gown on. I love it as much as I had in the store. It’s perfect. The strapless satin ball gown is simple, yet elegant. Walking out of my room, I search the house for my mother, finding her in my father’s office of all places. She doesn’t notice me while she sits at the desk, clicking away on the computer.
Lightly knocking on the door, I startle her and she jumps, her face paling as she looks to me.
“Victoria, I didn’t realize you were here. If you’re looking for your father, he just left for a business meeting.”
“On a Saturday?” It’s not an uncommon occurrence for my dad to work all hours, every day. He says the marketing industry never sleeps, and even when you’re sleeping, someone is still trying to sell you something and win your attention.
“Yes, Victoria. He’ll be back this evening.”
“I was actually looking for you.” She’s as surprised as I am. I usually don’t show her anything, fashion and art included, but I was so excited about finding the perfect dress that I figured I’d give it a shot. Maybe one day she’ll decide to be excited too. “I found a dress for the Bennett fundraiser.”
“That’s nice,” she says, turning her attention back to the computer.
“Yes, I thought so.” Today definitely isn’t the day we’ll share excitement. “I’ll show Dad later when he gets back home.” Maybe he’ll display some interest.
“Okay.” She continues clicking away. “Please do me a favor and don’t mention I was in his office. You know how he gets about anyone being in here and I just needed to print out a few things and the one in the other office isn’t working.”
“What did you need to print?”
She looks to me for a quick second before resuming her task. “A few receipts for the CPA.”
“Oh, okay.” I step out of the office, an uneasy feeling weighing heavy on me. There’s an unnerving tension between us that gives me the feeling there’s another reason she doesn’t want Dad to know she was in his office.
Purposefully, I make my way upstairs, my hands smoothing down the satiny fabric of my dress as I pass my bedroom, continuing down the hallway until I reach the office. Crossing to the laptop on the desk, I rub my finger over the smooth touchpad and the screen lights up. Opening the first document I spot on the desktop, I click print, holding my breath until the noise of the laser printer sounds in the background. My finger hovers over the touchpad as I listen to the printer as it finishes up, spitting the document into the tray. Working perfectly, it confirms what I already knew. My mom is guilty. The missing files, the outbursts from my dad, the reason she doesn’t want him to know she’s in his office—she’s guilty of everything he’s accused her of and maybe even more.
Stealthily, I walk out of the office, step into my bedroom, and close the door behind me. My back presses against the solid wood door, and I slide down along it until my butt hits the floorboards, my ball gown’s skirt fluffs out around me, engulfing me. What should I do? If I tell my dad, he’s sure to lose his temper, and he’s barely been holding onto it as is. He was livid at the suspicion, what will he do with proof of her going behind his back? If I don’t tell him, I’m just as guilty as she is. Neither choice feels like the correct one, so I remain on the floor, my dress surrounding me as I conclude that a delay on decision-making is the best solution. At least for now.
17
Elliot
Breathtaking. She’s absolutely breathtaking as she enters the room, her red hair arranged in a loose but elegant bun at the nape of her neck, baring the silky skin of her shoulders in a navy gown that looks like it was designed especially for her.
Mostly ignoring my presence, she glances around before asking, “Where’s Asher?”
I don’t reply, but I respond by moving across the room and stepping in front of her. The way her body tenses isn’t lost on me as I reach forward, cupping her hand in mine, and bring it to my mouth, brushing my lips over her knuckles. “Magnificently gorgeous, Victoria.”
She jerks her hand out of my grip, rubbing it across the satin material of her gown as she takes a step back. “I can’t do this right now. Where’s my brother? We’re already late.”
“Everything can wait.”
Her annoyed eyes glare at me as she folds her arms across her chest. “You’re already drunk, aren’t you?” Shaking her head, she presses her fingers against her temples.
Yep. I’ve had a few too many swigs already. How else am I supposed to get through the night while watching her proudly hang on the arm of Dickie? “Don’t be a buzzkill. That’s Asher’s job while he’s pining away for Quinn.”
“Where is he?”
Oh. She’s mad. And it’s refreshing. She’d been distant all week, barely responding to my petty, boneheaded attempts to make her life miserable. “He’s in the bathroom.”
She moves to the door leading to his bathroom, banging on the door as she yells her brother’s name.
“Or he might be in the closet.” Smirking, I watch as she furiously stomps to the closet door, cursing me in the process. Pounding her fist against the door. “Or he might be downstairs. I can’t really remember. Things are a little fuzzy at the moment.”
“I don’t have time for this. The driver is waiting with the limo outside, and we need to get to the fundraiser now.” She yanks the closet door open, peering inside.
“Found him!” I brag when Asher steps back into the room.
Victoria is less than enthusiastic about my discovery as she takes in her brother’s wardrobe. “Why are you not dressed? It’s time to go.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“Yeah. No. That is as ridiculous as your idiotic sidekick driving.” Victoria flicks a finger my way before heading into the closet. She exits with a suit and lays it across the bed. “Get dressed. Now. I’ll be back in three minutes if you’re not downstairs, dressed, and ready to go.”
“Dang, she’s bossy,” I tease, enjoying that she’s finally letting me push her buttons and I plan on hammering down on them tonight.
“Right.” Asher moves to the bed, stripping off his clothes. Victoria takes that as her cue to leave and I follow behind her. She’s aware I’m behind her because she mumbles a foul-mouthed parting shot at me under her breath.
“Ready to go?”
The voice of the arty dick puts a major damper on my buzz as I watch his eager eyes take her in as we walk down the staircase.
“Almost,” she breathes, stepping close to him as they begin chatting about something. What, I don’t know because I’m too busy watching his seedy fingers stroke up the soft skin of her arm as they talk, and my ears fill with a static hum.
Just in the nick of time, Asher descends the staircase saying, “Let’s go.”
“It’s about time,” Victoria mumbles with Dalton’s slimy hand on the small of her back.
Literally every muscle in my body contracts and it takes every ounce of strength I have not to pry his measly hand away from her. Hurrying around them, I make it to the limo and motion for Dickie to enter first. “We’ll sit towards the front since we don’t have a fluffy dress to climb over.”
He looks less than enthusiastic but climbs in as I follow, thankful to put space between them. As we sit towards the front, Asher and Victoria drop into the rear seat. She’s still not far enough from the twatface, but it’ll do for now.
If she isn’t pissed at me already, she’s about to be very shortly. Reaching into my jacket for the flask I keep tucked inside for emergencies, I pour a shot because this qualifies—I won’t get through the night if his hand touches her one more time.
Victoria continues reading her brother the riot act before flicking a finger at me, because obviously I’m on her shit list to
o. I grin and throw my arm over Dickie’s shoulder as I say, “You might want to drink up if you’ll have to deal with that all night.” Passing him the shot glass, it’s thrilling when he downs it immediately, further enraging her. She’s pissed as she starts nagging me, but she just needs to wait … not too much longer and she’s going to be livid. It’s a price I’m willing to pay in order to ensure her date crashes and burns.
18
Victoria
The limo comes to a stop. Finally. I’m so ready to be out of the damn car. It’s bad enough we’re so late thanks to my brother, but the few minutes Elliot played at being a nuisance in the car was more than enough to last me all night.
We hurry up the stairs as I whisper a few last warnings to Asher. This event is important to Quinn. If he wants to have any chance at a shot with her, he’ll need to behave tonight. I have little faith that’ll happen and even less that his idiotic sidekick will act right. All I need to do is stay far away from Elliot and enjoy the evening with Dalton—someone I deserve to be with.
The sight of Quinn with a date is enough to enrage Asher, and I do my best to talk some sense into him one last time before making my way over to where she stands with Connor.
Greeting her with a hug, I whisper in her ear, “Still loving that dress on you.”
“Same.” Quinn smiles as we chat for a few moments before heading over to have a seat at my parents’ table. They are in a bickering match as Dalton and I approach, so it’s not that hard to ignore Elliot’s annoying presence next to my brother. Once my father notes Dalton pulling out my chair, the argument halts, and a smile appears on his face.
“And who do we have here?”
“Dad, this is Dalton. Dalton, Victor Hastings.” I’m glad my dad is showing interest because my mom doesn’t seem the least bit concerned, but I introduce her anyhow. “My mom, Monica.”
Dad offers his hand as he stands from his chair, shaking Dalton’s hand before resuming his seat. “Dalton, tell me about yourself. What does your father do for a living?”
How is it discussing what his father does for a living telling my father about himself? Dalton doesn’t seem to mind the question as he begins explaining that his father owns the art studio where we met.
Their conversation is halted when Nathan walks onstage, and my dad’s expression tightens as he watches his best friend give a welcome speech and talk up the Bennett Foundation.
When the introduction is over, music fills the air as Dalton shifts in his seat, pulling my attention to him when a worried look overcomes his face.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. Um, I’m not feeling so well. I’ll be right back.” Dalton jogs off, hurrying into the bathroom near the front entrance.
That can’t be good.
“Art Boy already bailing?” Elliot snickers.
Something about his evil grin tells me he knows exactly why Dalton just ran straight to the bathroom. Damn it. This is really bad.
Asher rises from his seat, heading directly toward where Quinn and Connor are dancing, but the menacing asshole in front of me keeps my full attention. I need to know what’s going on.
“What did you do?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“What makes you think I did something? Maybe Dickie just can’t hang.”
Elliot reclines back, unbothered by the rage flowing from me. Actually, I think that’s the part he’s enjoying. Fucker.
He lifts the glass of water to his mouth, taking a sip, eyes locked with mine.
The shot in the limo.
“What did you put in it?”
“Don’t worry. He’ll be fine, eventually.”
“Tell me what you gave him.” I wouldn’t put anything past the pompous ass, and it worries me that Dalton might be in need of more than a bathroom break.
Elliot gestures to the dance floor where I see Quinn hurrying away, disappearing down a hallway at the back of the room as Asher follows behind her. “Looks like everyone is bailing on the party.”
“You’re such a vile, miserable asshole, you insist on making other people miserable too.”
He chuckles and leans forward, everyone around us continues on, oblivious to the idiot wreaking havoc on my night and causing poor Dalton undue pain and suffering. “Your night is the only one that I’m concerned with. Everyone else is responsible for their own misery, even Art Boy. No one forced the shot down his throat.”
“Do I need to take him to the hospital? Call the police? What did you give him?”
“Ah. No need for all that. He’ll have the squirts for a while, but he’ll be fine.”
“A laxative? You spiked his drink with a freakin’ laxative?”
“Disappointed I didn’t poison him and save you from another boring date?” he jokes, but I’m not so sure he wouldn’t resort to something so evil.
“Our so-called boring dates are better than the ones you took me on.” I lean forward, glaring at him as I continue. “Oh, wait. That’s right. We never went on a date because we were just fucking.”
Finally. The smug smile evaporates. I thought that would do the job, and sure enough, it hit a raw nerve. Elliot wanted to go on a date but far away, hidden where nobody would see us together, like everything else we did. At least I made one smart decision where this dumbass was involved.
Standing from the table, I grab my phone as I walk to the front of the room. It’s not like I can go check on Dalton, but I have to do something. His misery is my fault even if I wasn’t the one who’d handed him the drink. I should’ve known Elliot wouldn’t let us have a decent time together.
Me: You okay?
Dalton: I think so. I might be awhile.
Me: I’m sorry.
Dalton: Not your fault.
I don’t have the heart to tell him it is. At least not like this, while he’s still in middle of unmerited torment.
The remainder of my night is spent propped against the wall near the bathroom, overwhelmed with remorse. When Dalton finally emerges, an excruciatingly embarrassed expression is on his face and he avoids looking directly at me. Everyone piles into the limo as the event winds down. To say the ride home is awkward is a vast understatement. Dalton remains quiet, as does Asher, while Elliot keeps his stupid, smug glare pinned on me. To top it off, my parents unceasingly argue in a grand finale for the miserable night.
Once we arrive back to my house, Dalton’s nonstop apology for messing up the night makes me feel even worse, so I explain what happened and take my turn to apologize. He doesn’t seem mad about it, and in fact, it’s almost like he knew Elliot was responsible.
I’m very surprised when he says, “So, probably not the best time to ask, but I’d love to take you out again.”
“You actually want to go out with me again?” Is he crazy? Why would he be willing to put up with the circus I introduced into his life?
“Yes, except maybe this time we don’t tell anyone where we’re going or accept any shots from a certain someone.” His laughter at the situation doesn’t stifle my guilt or the feeling that every date will be a disaster until Elliot Bass is completely removed from my life … and my heart. When will that be? I hope soon because I don’t want to do this anymore, any of it.
“I can’t. If things were different, and maybe someday they will be, but I just can’t do this.”
“I get it.” He gives me a half-smile. “If anything changes, give me a call.”
Even if things change, I couldn’t do that to him, so I give him the honesty I would want. “It won’t. I’m sorry.” Because Elliot will always be around. Until I get far away from him, things will remain the same. And the scary thought is, even if I’m far away from Elliot, he’ll still find a way to ruin whatever good there is in my life. “Goodbye, Dalton.”
He gives me a knowingly nod as he steps back. “Goodbye.”
I know I made the right decision because I’m not upset that Dalton is walking away.
Stepping through the front door, I’m unable to shake off
my anger; all of it is directed at Elliot, who stands watching me as he waits at the bottom of the staircase. Firmly gripping the solid banister, I steady myself as I stomp up the stairs, my other hand clutching my stomach. My jaw aches from clenching so tight to keep from railing on him, telling him exactly how much his little stunt hurt me. I won’t let him see the agony or the pain he’s caused, only the anger.
“Victoria, wait.” His pained voice infuriates me further.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“I need to say something to you.”
Not happening. I don’t stop. Hurrying to my room, I slip inside quickly, slamming the door and locking it.
He bangs against the hard surface. “Please open the door.”
Moving away, I wiggle to unzip my dress, letting it fall to the floor as I head to the en suite. He doesn’t deserve a response, not even a refusal. Stepping into the shower, the barriers between us thankfully drown out his attempt to continue his foolish request to try and undo the damage he’s caused. Why bother tonight when he will just stomp out any progress we make tomorrow anyway?
19
Elliot
My head pounds as I lie in bed, replaying the events of last night over and over. Dickie was collateral damage but I feel a slight bit of guilt. Not much, but some. I can’t really think past the fact that she completely shut me down last night. Even with Arty out of the way, I know she will be a challenge, but I will gladly keep at it. Just not right now because the house is filled with screams from her parents. Mostly her dad, but it’s nothing new around the Hastings house. I debate staying in bed, but it’s no use. I hadn’t gotten any sleep last night, and I know I won’t now. Once the sounds of chaos grow louder, I head downstairs. Victor’s shouts grow more enraged by the second. He’s irate but none of it is concerning until I hear a loud crash. Instinctively, I break into a sprint, following the frenzied sounds coming from the kitchen.
