Three
Murder On The Dancefloor
MIA
I STARE AT THE BLANK notepad in front of me, twirling a pen between my fingers. The hum of the fan does little to cool the heat simmering under my skin as Austin leans back in his chair across from me, a smirk plastered on his irritatingly handsome face.
“I still can’t believe I’m doing this,” I mutter, glaring at him.
“You mean pretending to be madly in love with me? Yeah, I can see why that’d be a challenge,” he teases, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
I throw the pen at him, and of course, he catches it mid-air like some kind of cocky superhero. “This isn’t a joke, Austin. If we’re going to pull this off, we need rules.”
“Rules.” He raises a brow, leaning forward. “Ok, hit me. What’s rule number one?”
“No touching unless absolutely necessary,” I say firmly, jotting it down on the notepad.
He laughs, a deep rumble that makes my insides flip despite my best efforts. “Define ‘necessary.’”
“Necessary as in—if Amber is watching, or if we’re in a public situation where it would be weird not to.”
“Got it.” He grins, leaning back again. “No unnecessary touching. Anything else?”
“Yes.” I tap the pen against the paper, trying to ignore the way his eyes follow the movement. “This is temporary. A few weeks, max. Once Amber loses interest, we ‘break up.’”
“Temporary,” he echoes, his tone unreadable. “Sure. Anything else, boss?”
“Rule three: No overstepping boundaries. That means no snooping through my stuff, no unannounced visits—”
“Hold up,” he interjects, holding up a hand. “I’m doing you a favour here. If I want to come over and raid your fridge, I think I’ve earned that right.”
I glare at him. “Austin.”
“Fine, fine,” he says, waving me off. “No unannounced visits. Got it. But I’m adding a rule of my own.”
“Excuse me?”
“If I’m playing the part of the devoted fiancé, I get some say in this arrangement.” He smirks, leaning forward again, and I hate the way his proximity makes my pulse race. “Rule four: You have to stop calling me a manwhore.”
I blink at him. “But you are a manwhore.”
“Was,” he corrects, his voice low and smooth. “If I’m engaged to you, I’m officially off the market. Which means you’ll have to start referring to me as . . . let’s say, ‘reformed.’”
I snort, but he looks deadly serious, his dark eyes locking on mine. “Fine,” I relent, scribbling it down. “No calling you a manwhore. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.”
“Good. Because this is it. No more rules.”
“Wait,” he says, holding up a finger. “You forgot one.”
I narrow my eyes. “What now?”
He leans even closer, his face just inches from mine, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Rule five: You have to practice saying you love me. Otherwise, nobody will believe this.”
My breath hitches at the proximity, and for a moment, I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. His smirk is still there, but there’s something else in his gaze—something that makes my heart thud uncomfortably in my chest.
“You’re insane,” I manage, shoving him back as I stand up.
“Maybe,” he says, standing too, towering over me. “But you’re stuck with me now, fiancée.”
He’s teasing, but the word sends a shiver down my spine, one I hope he doesn’t notice.
“Don’t push your luck,” I warn, grabbing the notepad and turning toward the door.
As I open it, he calls after me, his voice laced with amusement. “Just remember, Jameson—if you’re going to lie, you’d better make it convincing. And that includes looking like you’re crazy about me.”
I slam the door behind me, my cheeks burning as I lean against it.
Crazy about him?
Not in a million years.
I’M BALANCING A CARTON of almond milk and a slightly squashed loaf of bread while fumbling with my keys when I hear her voice.
The voice.
High-pitched, saccharine, and undeniably smug.
“Mia! Oh my God, hi!”
I wince before I even turn around. Amber McVey. Dressed in a form-fitting bright Barbie pink workout gear, not a hair out of place, and looking like she just stepped out of a fitness catalog.
“Amber,” I say, forcing a smile so tight it could crack my face. “Hi.”
She sashays closer, her oversized sunglasses perched on her head like a crown.
“How have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages!
You know, except for that adorable little announcement about your engagement.
” She pauses, her lips curling into a sickly sweet smile. “Congratulations, by the way.”
“Uh, thanks,” I mutter, gripping the grocery bag like it’s my only lifeline.
Amber’s eyes glint with a sharpness that’s impossible to miss. “Justin, right? That’s his name?”
“No,” I say, suddenly feeling like I’ve been thrown into the lion’s den. “Austin.”
“Perfect timing, actually.” She beams, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. “Jason and I are hosting a little moving-in party this weekend. Nothing too big, just some friends and a few neighbours. You and Austin should totally come!”
Oh, God.
No. No, no, no.
“That’s so sweet of you, Amber,” I say, trying to sound casual, “but we’re really busy right now with . . .” My mind scrambles for an excuse, any excuse. “. . . wedding planning!”
Amber’s perfectly sculpted brows rise, her smile widening as if she’s caught the scent of blood in the water. “Wedding planning, huh? That’s so exciting. You have to tell me all about it at the party. Seriously, Mia, I insist.”
She’s not asking me. She’s not telling me. She’s daring me.
Before I can argue, a familiar deep voice cuts through the tension like a warm knife through butter.
“What party?”
I glance over my shoulder. And there he is—Austin, in all his infuriatingly handsome glory. He’s wearing joggers and a fitted t-shirt that hugs his broad chest just enough to make me lose my train of thought for a second.
He and Amber would make a great couple.
I push the thought to the back of my mind.
Amber lights up like a Christmas tree. “Austin! I was just inviting you and Mia to our little moving-in party next Saturday.”
“Sounds great,” he says smoothly, flashing her one of his easy, disarming smiles.
Wait, what?
Amber giggles, actually giggles, like she’s a schoolgirl with a crush. “Fabulous. Seven o’clock, don’t be late. And bring your A-game—Jason’s a big fan of charades.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Austin says, leaning casually against the wall like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Amber gives us both one last sparkling smile before spinning on her heel and walking off, her yoga-clad hips swaying dramatically.
The second she’s out of earshot, I whirl around and face Austin. “What the hell was that?”
“What?” he asks innocently, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.
“You just volunteered us for charades!”
“You were going to say no,” he points out, his tone infuriatingly calm.
“Exactly! Because that would have been the sane thing to do!”
He shrugs. “Amber’s not going to buy this engagement if we avoid her. Showing up keeps the story alive.”
I narrow my eyes at him, my blood pressure skyrocketing. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”
His smirk deepens. “Maybe a little.”
I groan, stomping past him into my apartment. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re adorable when you’re mad,” he calls after me.
I slam the door shut, but his laugh still echoes through the hallway.
MY COUSIN, CHARLOTTE, IS staying with me tonight. She lives in Scotland but flies down every few weeks to visit. She’s not just my cousin—she’s my best friend, my lifeline. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without her.
Growing up, we were inseparable, practically joined at the hip in our little village.
Then her parents divorced, and her mum moved her back to Scotland.
It felt like losing a limb. We tried the whole letters-and-phone-calls thing, but it was never the same.
Still, we’ve managed to cling to our bond over the years.
So now, whenever we get a chance to see each other, we grab it with both hands.
I’ve been trying to convince her to move back down here for ages, throwing out every excuse under the sun—better weather, closer to me, a fresh start.
But she just laughs, waving it off like I’m joking.
With her fancy corporate job (which, let’s be honest, I still don’t fully understand), it’s pretty much a pipe dream.
Still, a girl can hope, right?
“So what you are really saying is that he raped your mouth?” Charlotte asks while attempting to throw peanuts in the air and catch them in her mouth.
I nod. “Yup.”
I am giving Charlotte the rundown of my date with Ryan.
“Gross. Why do dudes think they can do that? I mean, yeah give me a bit of tongue, but don't swash it around my mouth like a freaking washing machine.”
“Right?!” I agree. “I literally felt his teeth crashing against mine.”
“I would have kneed him in the bollocks.”
I choke on my red wine, nearly spitting it everywhere. “Imagine.”
“Well, you know what you need? A night out! Like a proper night out.” Charlotte squeals with glee as her eyes dance with excitement.
“What? Like out-out, you mean?”
“Yeah,”
“Oh god, no!” I squeak. Clubbing is the last thing I want to do right now.
Charlotte rolls her eyes at me, “pleaseeee,” She begs like a child asking their parents for a puppy. Her hands interlock as she bats her eyelids at me, and actually sticks out her bottom lip.
How could I say no to that face? “Fine, ok, we’ll go,” Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “I’ll warn you now though, I don't have anything to wear,”
“Well, lucky for you, I know just the thing for you! Come with me,”
I follow Charlotte into my guest room and she starts rummaging through her suitcase. She pulls out a dress, a beautiful emerald green dress.
Why does she have that with her? Just in case an eligible bachelor asks her out while she’s down here? Her suitcase must be a fucking Mary Poppins bag.
“Here, you can wear this.” She says as she holds it up to me.
“No way, that’s way too short for me!” I protest. “It looks as though it's too short for you, and bear in mind I have an extra two inches on you. And I don’t want to flash my tits and fanny off to total strangers, thank you very much.”