What the hell was I getting myself into?
The following afternoon, I was nestled in the plush confines of a boutique showroom alongside Tatum and Riley. The shop, usually bustling with customers, was closed off to the public and reserved exclusively for our private appointment. A continuous stream of fine champagne bubbled in crystal flutes, adding a touch of effervescence to the air. Along the elegant walls, racks brimming with luxurious imported fashion beckoned me with their vibrant colors and exquisite fabrics, creating an atmosphere of opulence and style.
Tatum lounged across a velvet chair in a cream corset top and wide-leg jeans, her freshly blown-out hair tucked behind one ear. She was scrolling through photos on her phone, barely acknowledging the sales rep gushing over some designer’s new collection. Riley, on the other hand, was three glasses in, her eyes dancing with amusement as she modeled sunglasses in front of a mirror.
I sat with one leg crossed over the other, pretending to browse, but my mind kept circling back to my application to Eros. I hadn’t told them about the establishment, nor was I planning to—at least not yet. Riley would ask too many damn questions that I didn’t feel like answering.
“So, what’s your vibe today?” Riley asked, sipping her drink as she tossed a pair of heels in my direction. “Classic bad bitch or dangerously unapproachable?”
I smirked, catching the shoes with one hand. “Both. Always.”
“You’ve been in your head all afternoon,” Tatum added, finally looking up from her phone. “Something wrong?”
Right when I was about to respond, my phone buzzed in my purse. I paused, reached inside, and pulled it out. An unfamiliar number lit up the screen, and I frowned, wondering who the hell it could be. No one ever called me from aprivate number, not ever. Not unless they had a death wish or something to hide.
What the hell?
“Who is it?” Tatum asked, leaning forward and snapping her fingers to get my attention.
I held up the phone, a slow current of suspicion crawling down my spine. Something about it made me feel as though I was being watched.
“I need to take this,” I said, getting up. “I’ll be right back.”
Neither of them pushed, but I could feel their eyes lingering on me as I quietly slipped out the side door and stepped into the hallway. The air was relatively cool and carried a faint scent of lavender from the boutique. It was eerily quiet, save for the soft, constant hum of the ventilation system, which reverberated softly against the walls.
I pressed the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Didn’t think you’d actually answer, but I gotta admit... I’m glad you did,” came the male voice, the same one with the smooth, deep baritone that had enveloped me that night in the parking garage.
I froze.
“Who is this?” I asked, even though I knew.
How could I forget?
“Don’t play dumb, Sophia. You know my voice.” Dallas’ slow chuckle followed.
Caught off guard, I pulled the phone away and stared at it like it had betrayed me.
“How did you get this number?” I asked, my tone flat when I returned.
“Don’t worry about all that. I need to see you. Step outside.”
Utterly baffled by his request, I blinked, staring down the empty hallway like he was standing at the end of it.
“You must be out of your damn mind,” I spat, my voice barely above a whisper. “The fuck is wrong with you, calling me out of the blue and telling me to step outside like we’re friends? I don’t like you.”
“You don’t have to like me, Sophia,” he said smoothly, “but I’m going to get my way either way. You can walk out here on your own… or I can come in there and get you. Figured you wouldn’t want that kind of attention, so I’m giving you a choice.”
I gritted my teeth. “Fuck you, Dallas,” I spat, and his chuckle rolled down the line.
“Come outside, and you can. Backseat’s got plenty of room. I’ll fold you up and fuck that smart mouth right off your pretty face.”
God, his voice was insufferable. Dallas spoke with the unshakable confidence of a man who had never been denied anything in his life. Every word rolled off his tongue with arrogance and control, and he spoke as if my compliance was inevitable. He didn’t talk like someone who was aware he was crossing a line. He spoke like someone who believed the line never applied to him in the first place.
He was too confident, too cocky, and entirely too sure of himself. They were calculated and dangerous in a way that whispered instead of screamed, and what made it worse, what unsettled me more than I was willing to admit, was the way my body responded to him.
I liked it.
