Naomi #2
I know he won’t come upstairs; he respects Max too much for that.
But this little distraction will give me time to pack my bags and be out the door before he notices that I’m gone.
Flirting with him is just the icing on the cake.
They always say, "Never let your enemy know your next move." If he thinks I’m warming up to him, maybe he won’t be so suffocating, and I’ll finally have some much-needed room to breathe.
I close the door to my bedroom, softly, then pull out my phone to call Aisha.
She answers on the first ring. “I’ll be there in twenty,” I tell her quietly.
“Is my baby father coming?”
“Aisha, no.” I shut my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Soul crusher.”
“Whore.” There is a brief pause, but then we both burst into laughter. “Okay, lemme hurry before anyone realizes I’m gone.”
“Ayeee!” She cheers. With a mischievous edge, she adds, “Oh, and bring something cute to wear.”
I freeze mid-step, narrowing my eyes. “I told you I’m not in the mood to party, I thought we agreed we weren’t going. I just…”
“Just in case!” she shouts before I can argue.
I sigh, shutting my eyes for a moment. “Okay.”
“Okay, love you, bye.”
“You too, byeeee.” I drag the word out a little too long before ending the call. She hates when I do that, but I’m in too much of a good mood not to be a little annoying tonight.
I snatch my already packed bag off the bed and shove my phone into my pocket, quietly making my way through the back hallway and down the stairs so that Cade and Jaxon don't hear me.
Just as I reach the bottom stair, Max’s laugh booms from the kitchen, and I freeze, my whole body tensing as sweat beads along my brow.
Once their conversation resumes, I slip out through the sitting room doors, dashing across the pool deck.
The cool evening air brushes across my skin, ruffling my hair as I speed walk along the side of the house.
I don’t take a full breath until I slip into the driver's seat of my BMW, pulling out of the driveway like a thief in the night.
At this rate, I should probably stop for another bottle of tequila. This week has been nothing short of infuriating—too damn long, too damn much.
After a not-so-short drive—California traffic being a soul-sucking void—I ring her doorbell.
“Bitch, you know it’s open,” she says through the Ring camera, her voice dripping with sass.
“And that’s why I’m going to kidnap my nephew one day. Lock your damn doors!”
A small grey-and-white kitten meets me at the door as if he’s been waiting for his Aunty.
“Hey, Ri Ri.” I scoop up Rio, the fluffy nephew in question, and walk in, nudging the door shut behind me. He purrs as I scratch that magic spot between his ears. “You better have the tequila you promised ready,” I call out to Aisha, heading toward her living room.
Her house is tucked in a quaint gated community, where modern design meets suburban luxury: stainless steel appliances, hardwood floors, and chandeliers that would make a real estate agent drool. She bought it last year after her business crushed it—for the fourth year in a row.
She had me help with the finishing touches after she moved in. Naturally, I talked her into gothic chandeliers. They clash with the modern vibe just enough to make a statement. And now, the place screams her name: bold, stylish, and a little dark.
Behind the bar, she’s already shaking something in her cocktail shaker. Whatever it is, it’ll be strong enough to erase every violent fantasy I’ve had about that infuriatingly handsome bastard.
“Would I ever lie to you?” she says, pouring the liquid into two chilled martini glasses.
Putting Rio down, I slump onto her couch. He loops around my legs, purring like a little motor.
Aisha hands me a glass, her pearl necklace twisted slightly out of place. She’s already dressed for the night in a black guipure lace dress that hugs her curves in all the right ways. She ruffles the hem dramatically, a smirk playing on her lips.
“Just in case, my ass,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “I should have known you telling me specifically what to pack meant we were definitely going out.”
“You look stressed. You need a night out,” she says, eyeing me like I’m a wounded animal she’s determined to rehabilitate.
I take a sip of the deathly strong cocktail, huffing a sigh. “You have no idea.”
“So, knock it back, and let’s get you ready,” she says, already plotting.
I drain the glass in one go, my throat burning as the strength of it hits me all at once. Exhaling the delicious fumes, I set the glass down and lick the last taste from my lips.
Aisha grins. "That's my girl,” she says, dragging me off the couch and toward her bathroom.
Four hours later, my curls are fluffed to perfection, and I’m wearing a white, sleeveless lace corset mini dress, courtesy of Aisha. She loans me long white lace gloves to match, and I throw on a pair of nude red bottoms.
Her phone vibrates, and she shows me the screen: a text from an unknown number—a riddle we have to solve to get into the club.
Unknown: If you wish to make it into the main event, crack the code: I won’t steal your siren song, but your soul is out of luck. What are you?
We go back and forth, brainstorming ideas as we slide into the back seat of our Uber.