The Fling (18+)

Chapter 16

In my room, I dug through the meager selection of clothing that I had packed, hoping to find something to suit my needs.

"Goddammit," I muttered, holding up a light sundress.

I need 'bombshell', and this is not going to cut it...

"Here, try this."

Whipping around, I saw Jessica standing in my doorway, hair wrapped in a towel as she held a garment bag in her hand.

"What?"

Walking into the room, she explained, "We're not exactly the same size, but I think this will still fit you. I don't need it back, just don't tell anyone where you got it - your father would have my head if he found out."

Laying it down on the bed, she carefully unzipped the bag, revealing a barely-there black sheath.

"Wait-"

"He had no right to say that to you." Jessica didn't look up, but I could see her anger in the set of her jaw.

"You heard?"

Jessica scoffed, "He was shouting; how could I not?"

"Well," I sighed, "thank you."

"How are you getting there?"

I shrugged, "I was going to call a taxi."

Jessica shook her head, "Take a car; he's got plenty."

Frowning, I replied, "With the mood he's in right now? I wouldn't put it past him to report it stolen and get me arrested."

"And risk the bad press? No way, not when he's this close to selling the company."

Tilting my head to the side, I felt my lips form into an evil smirk.

Giving my shoulder a quick squeeze, she turned toward the door, "Anyway, I'm going to go pretend that I was too busy with my skincare routine to notice you leaving. Give him hell."

"Who?"

Glancing back, Jessica smirked, "We both know who."

With my father's sleek, silver coupe parked in the adjacent garage, I walked into Hotel Deco, admiring the modern aesthetic on my way to the bar.

My heels made sharp, clicking sounds with every step, filling me with a sense of power. The shoes and the small clutch purse I carried were the same I'd worn at the gala, and while they didn't match this dress perfectly, they worked well enough.

Nobody's going to be looking at them anyway...

Nervous, I smoothed my hand over the fabric of my borrowed finery, trying to make the scrap of cloth longer. It fit well enough in the bodice, with my breasts filling out the bust like it had been tailored for them, but as it went down, clinging to the curves of my body, it left little to the imagination and ended in a hemline that barely covered my ass.

In the bar, I slid onto a tall stool, struggling a little to ensure there was enough fabric between me and the seat. Pulling out my ID, I ordered a gin and tonic, opening the messages on my phone and typing as the bartender mixed my drink.

"So, I'm downstairs..."

I waited a moment, then his reply came, "Why are you downstairs, Nora?"

"You know why."

Almost a full minute passed as I stared, nervous, at the screen.

"Not happening."