Say the Word(111)

“Of course they will.” Fae sighed dismissively. “That’s a three thousand dollar dress.”

“What!”

“Relax,” Fae said, setting aside her magazine and rising from her perch on Simon’s bed. “We borrowed it from wardrobe closets at Luster. One of the stylists owed me a favor because I set her up with this great guy from—”

“Fae!” I interrupted what was sure to be a long tangent about her matchmaking skills. “Can we skip back to the part where you said this dress costs more than my rent…”

Simon and Fae grinned in unison.

I began to hyperventilate. “What if I tear it? What if I spill something and stain it?”

“Wow, good thing we didn’t tell her how much those Manolos cost,” Simon muttered to Fae.

“What?!” I exclaimed, looking down at my feet in horror.

“Baby, breathe,” Simon ordered, taking me by the shoulders and staring deeply into my eyes. “You won’t tear the dress or muss the heels. You’ll be fine. I’ll even take off the blue eyeliner if it makes you feel better.”

“Thank you.”

“Even though it totally brings out the navy hues in your eyes and—”

“Simon!”

“Fine, fine,” he muttered, steering me back to his vanity and grabbing a cotton swab. “Sit down, my little lady of the night.”

I narrowed my eyes at him as he began to dab the heavy makeup away.

“So what’s the plan, again?” Fae asked.

“Sebastian’s picking me up here in—” I glanced at my watch. “Shit! That can’t be the time! He’ll be here in ten minutes!”

“Deep breaths,” Simon ordered, swatting the tip of my nose with a makeup brush. “So you’re going to walk into this super secret society, assuming Sebastian’s last name even gets you inside, and… then what? Accuse the Vice President of sex trafficking? Tackle and handcuff a state senator in a civilian’s arrest? Kidnap and waterboard the beloved Good Day America newscaster until he reveals his sexual deviancies?”

I wrinkled my nose at him. “Of course not. We’re going to get inside, make a little small talk, and slip away into the back room when the coast is clear. There must be some kind of an office or a computer where they store files. If I can find a bank receipt or any kind of money exchange proving that they’ve been doing anything remotely incriminating, I’ll have enough to get the authorities involved.”

“But who?” Simon asked. “I thought we couldn’t trust the NYPD because Santos might not be the only dirty cop working for these people.”

I grimaced. “I haven’t quite figured it all out yet.”

Simon snorted. “Great.”

“The FBI,” Fae interjected quietly. She’d been listening in silence for several moments, a conflicted expression on her face. “You can go to them. I know someone who will help you.”

Simon and I turned simultaneously to face our friend, twin expressions of surprise on our faces.

“You know a guy in the FBI?” I asked, my tone full of disbelief.

“Someone has been keeping some serious secrets,” Simon chided, planting both hands on his hips and leveling a glare in Fae’s direction. “What is this about? First you know a guy who can magically produce a dossier of information about Labyrinth. Then you know a guy who can look over Lux’s NDA. And now you know a guy who happens to work as a federal agent?” Simon snorted. “What are you, an international spy? A mobster’s daughter? A computer hacker leading a double life as a relationship expert?”

Fae shook her head. “You guys, it’s not a big deal.”

A knock sounded on Simon’s bedroom door and Nate popped his head inside. “Sebastian’s here.”

“Thanks, Nate.” I smiled at him and he winked in return before disappearing back out into the common room.

I rose from the vanity stool, straightened my shoulders, and took a final look at myself.

“I can do this.” I took a deep breath. “At least, I think can do this. I’m pretty sure I can. Probably.”

“Your self-confidence is awe-inspiring.” Simon rolled his eyes.

“Oh, shut up.” I turned to face Fae. “When I get back, we need to have a long talk about your mysterious connections.”

She grinned at me. “Good luck tonight.”

“She doesn’t need luck, she’s wearing Dior,” Simon said. “Now go forth and conquer, baby.”





***


Bash wasn’t speaking to me. Not with words, anyway. He’d taken one look at my outfit, and his vocabulary had devolved into some kind of strange, caveman-esque language of grunts and grumbles. Apparently, he wasn’t a fan of the hyper-short black dress or its revealing strapless sweetheart neckline.

He’d arrived at Simon’s loft looking like a god — if gods were well-built, 6’2” blond men in immaculately tailored dinner jackets. We locked gazes as soon as I emerged from Simon’s bedroom, my two crazy friends in tow, and I saw his eyes widen fractionally as he took in my Simon-approved ensemble.

Simon leaned in close to my side to whisper in my ear. “That’s a custom Dolce & Gabbana suit.” He blew out an amused huff of air. “Ha! And you wanted to recycle that old blue dress you wore to Trisha and Stu’s wedding last summer. I bet you’re glad to be in Dior now! You would’ve looked like one of the Ugly Stepsisters next to Prince Charming, instead of Cinderella.”