What did I think? “Panty raids are hardly a good investigative piece.”
“I know.” She sighed as I pulled open the glass door. “But…”
I paused when she didn’t finish speaking. Then cocked a brow when I noticed uncertainty toying with her features.
“What?”
“Have you seen that movieThe Skulls?”
It took everything in me not to let my eyes narrow. “Yeah?”
I watched that movie when I was thirteen and began my delve into The Order. At the time, I considered it research. Now, I knew how idiotic that was. The movie romanticized the mystery of powerful men. The truth was so much darker.
A furrow tugged at my brow when Ashleigh leaned in and softly whispered, “Do you think organizations like that exist?”
“No,” I said, blowing out the best fake disgruntled snort I could. I shook my head. “Don’t be silly.”
Unfortunately for me, I was not a good actor, a fact proven by the side-eye she gave me in return.
“Maybe it’s not as silly as you think.”
“Maybe it is,” I argued.
Her brow rose. “Do you think it is?”
“I don’t know,” I responded. “Do you?”
“Maybe I don’t.”
“Maybe I don’t, either.”
Ashleigh’s chin lifted as her eyes narrowed. “What do you know?”
“What doyouknow?”
We stood in the breeze with the door open staring each other down. For all I knew, Ashleigh was one of The Order’s lackeys sent to spy on me. Or worse…she could be working for Preston.
It was awfully convenient how quickly I got that scholarship. My grades were a little above average, where I’d purposely kept them, and my only extracurricular activity was the school paper. Trina’s cheerleading got her a free ride to the University of Miami, and even that I could understand. As painful as it was to admit, cheerleading was a sport.
My eyes trickled over Ashleigh’s pink shirt and jeans. Was she actually this casual, or was she trying to appear nonchalant?
“Does the name Whitley mean anything to you?”
Her brow arched. “Like the brewery?”
Ah ha! I knew she was up to something.
“They have this great vanilla ale. It’s fantastic with apple pie.”
Or she wasn’t up to anything.
Her hip cocked as her hand pressed against it. “What does a brewery have to do with secret societies?”
“I didn’t say anything about secret societies?”
“Neither did I,” she insisted.
“Good.”
