Chapter 3 #2
A sudden wave of nerves settles over me, and I gaze at the three outfits, trying to see if any of them scream out at me.
The first is a plain black jumpsuit with a plunging neckline, dressed up with heels and an abundance of dainty gold necklaces.
Next up is a sleeveless, fitted crop top with cutouts at the waist and a matching high-waisted, wide-leg pant that gives sexy CEO vibes, and then finally, a black silk cami paired with a high-waisted leather pencil skirt that snatches the waist.
“Honestly, I’m leaning toward option two or three,” I tell her. “Sexy CEO or flirty receptionist.”
Izzy glances back at the outfits before she snorts out a laugh. “Oh shit. You’re right,” she mumbles before glancing back at me. “How were you planning on doing your hair?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe a slicked-back ponytail.”
“Yes!” she gasps. “In that case, you have to go with sexy CEO. That long, black hair up in a high pony, along with siren eyes, will have everyone eating out of the palm of your hand. Not to mention, your mother won’t know what hit her.
The second she even tries to claim you’re a disappointment, people will laugh her away. ”
Fuck yes. I’ve been waiting twenty-eight years to render my mother speechless.
“Alright,” Iz continues. “Let’s get you ready, and while you wash that bird’s nest on top of your head, you can tell me why the hell you’re still in your pajamas at four in the afternoon.”
Ahhhh. Fuck.
Ten minutes later, I’m lathering shampoo into my hair while Izzy sits across my bathroom, slouched on the closed toilet with her feet propped up on the vanity. It doesn’t look comfortable in the slightest, but Izzy has a gift for finding comfort in the weirdest places.
She’s on her phone scrolling through social media as I rattle off the details of my night—or lack thereof. I tell her how Laith was supposed to come over but bailed after I left work early. When her face scrunches, I realize my mistake.
“Wait. Wait. Wait,” Izzy cuts in, sitting up straighter and dropping her feet off the vanity. “What do you mean you left work early? You haven’t left work early . . . ever. Were you sick? Dying? A bad case of the runs?”
Crap.
My face scrunches, and she sure as fuck doesn’t miss it. “Spill it, Harper’s Bazaar. What aren’t you telling me?”
“Shit. Okay. Ummm,” I start, unable to keep the cringe off my face as I try to figure out just how many details I’m going to tell her about my brand-new black-rose gifter. “You’re going to think I’m insane.”
She scoffs. “I already think you’re insane.”
“I know, but now you’ll really think I’m insane.”
Izzy’s brows furrow, and she leans forward, bracing her elbows on her knees as she focuses intently on my face. “What the hell is going on?”
I cringe again. “Okay, so it was just me at work last night. I’d finished my autopsy and was writing up the report when I got this gut feeling that I was being watched.
Like, it was full on. I’m talking my blood ran cold, and I had goosebumps all over my skin.
I was freaked out, and as you know, it takes a lot to rattle me.
I looked around and couldn’t see anything, but I couldn’t shake the feeling. ”
Izzy gapes at me. “You realize you work in a morgue, right? You’re constantly surrounded by dead bodies, messing with their corpses and cracking open their chests. It was only a matter of time before you pissed off the spirit world.”
“Ghosts? Really? You’re trying to tell me I was being haunted by a ghost?”
“No. Not a ghost. A spirit.”
A smirk pulls across my lips. “Look who’s insane now,” I tell her as I make the conscious decision not to tell her about the rose I found on the autopsy table.
She’ll think it’s all in my head anyway.
I don’t need her worrying about my sanity, at least for now.
If something else happens, something significant, then sure, I’ll let her know then.
Izzy rolls her eyes. “Alright then, Dr. Genius. If it wasn’t a ghost or a spirit, which is clearly the obvious answer, then who or what the hell was it?”
“I—” I pull myself up short because honestly, I have no fucking idea. “That’s a very good question.”
“I’m telling ya,” she says, getting comfortable on the toilet again. “You pissed off the spirit world.”
I turn around in the shower and tip my head back under the water to rinse the shampoo out of my hair while secretly hoping she’s right.
Kind of. Being haunted by an angry ghost is better than the alternative of being brutally murdered by some psychotic stalker, right?
But something tells me that a ghost isn’t capable of leaving a black rose in the middle of my autopsy table.
Fucking hell. Am I seriously entertaining the idea of it being a ghost .
. . or spirit? I’m a woman of science, for fuck’s sake.
There’s no such thing as the spirit world.
What happened last night, that was real.
I felt it in the way the hairs stood up on the back of my neck and the way my gut sank with unease.
That shit doesn’t happen for nothing. While I might not believe in ghosts, I certainly believe in a woman’s intuition, and last night, it was screaming at me.
After finishing in the shower, I grab my towel and dry off.
Then as soon as I step out onto my fuzzy bathmat, the bathroom turns into a whole production line.
Makeup and hair products spill off the counter while Izzy dives through my underwear drawer, figuring out which pieces would work best with my new sexy CEO outfit for the night.
“So, what are the chances your mom’s been screwing around on Daddy Slater?” Iz calls from my bedroom, still digging through my underwear drawer.
My face immediately scrunches with distaste. From the moment my mother started dating her current husband—Elias Slater, aka, my stepfather—Izzy has been obsessed, and she hasn’t been shy in letting me know.
Izzy is all for the sugar baby lifestyle—not that she needs it—and Elias offers just that.
He’s tall and mysterious with the whole salt and pepper thing going for him.
There’s no denying that he’s attractive, and while he certainly gives very serious don’t fuck with me vibes, he’s always been nice to me.
But when I look at him, all I see are the bags of money my mother is sucking dick for.
She’s fooling herself if she thinks she’s going to get her grubby hands on it.
Elias would have that money locked up tighter than the facelift she got last year.
His brother on the other hand . . .
“You’re grossing me out,” I call back.
Iz strides back to the bathroom, propping her shoulder against the door frame while holding my black lace thong. “God, I would be such a cum dumpster for that man.”
Ughhhhhh. “Excuse me while I throw up.”
Izzy laughs and pushes off the door frame, striding into the bathroom and shoving my underwear at me. “What’s the problem? You don’t approve of your bestie being a semen demon for your daddy dearest?”
“I—what?” I mutter gaping at Izzy. “Semen demon? What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”
“Just keeping it real, baby,” she says, fishing for my hairbrush in my bathroom drawer. “But in the spirit of keeping it real, what do you think he’s like in the sack? I bet he’s a beast. Don’t you think? With a body like that and those eyes. Good lord. The things I’d let that man do to me.”
“You have real issues. You realize that, right?”
Iz laughs. “What are the chances of you bringing a plus one to this thing tonight?”
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn her. “Mom is still salty about the time you offered to give him a handy under the table at the Christmas party. Trust me, you showing up tonight isn’t going to do me any favors.”
“It’s not you I’m looking to do favors for,” she tells me, a wide smirk cutting across her lips.
“I don’t know if I’ve told you this lately, but you’re gross. I need to bathe in a sea of bleach after hanging out with you.”
“Says the bitch who spends her nights talking to dead people and playing with intestines,” she laughs.
I go to argue back, but the words get caught in my throat.
She’s got one hell of a point, and there’s not a damn thing I can say to defend myself right now.
I do speak to dead people, and I have been known to spend hours at a time playing with intestines.
However, my idea of playing most certainly differs from Izzy’s.
All I can do is grin back at her, and not a moment later, we dive back into getting ready. Izzy works on brushing my hair while I prep my skin for makeup. Then soon enough, I’m standing back in front of my full-length mirror, gazing at the woman staring back at me.
I’m not the type to fawn over myself, but fuck. I look hot.
I like what I see, and more than that, I look successful. I look like a woman who’s been looked over and disregarded too many times, and now she’s ready to grab the world by the balls and make it her bitch.