Page 8 of Wicked Truths
I drum my fingers on Dom’s desk, my mind racing.
What information could be worth risking my life over?
I failed my deadline.
I spent hours searching Dom’s office and found nothing. Nothing that would warrant him being arrested. So allI can do now is hope that Mateo likes me enough to date me…and then get him to kill my blackmailer.
A giggle ripples from my throat.
I don’t want the person killed, not really, but I do want Mateo to get every bit of evidence he has against me. The trouble with that is Mateo will then have something to hold against me.
I groan.
It’ll still be easier to run away.
I wish when I started my time on the Pampered Princess website that I had saved every penny I earned. But no, I thought the money would keep rolling in. I suppose it would if I accepted the dates I’ve been offered.
I blow out a deep breath as I drag the halter-neck black mini dress up my thighs, then fasten the straps that run from either side of my neck to the top of my ass. There is hardly much to the outfit. It’s low cut at the front and apart from the two straps down my back, my back is bare.
It must be enough to get Con’s attention.
I glance at my watch. It’s time for Caleb and Poppy to arrive.
After a quick coat of nude lipstick, I push my feet into the crisscrossed high-heeled sandals and sit at my dressing table. I pull out my diary, and write:
How do I stop myself from wanting him when he is forbidden?
How do I let him go when I want him so badly?
Maybe Conlikes to share…
A horn beeps just as my cell dings.
SweetJustice: You failed.
After reading the message, I consider replying that I need more time. Instead, I ignore it, lock my diary, and push it underneath my mattress.
I check myself in the mirror one last time before I slip my phone into my purse and leave my room.
I slide into Caleb’s Range Rover, my dress riding up my thighs. His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror; they linger a moment too long before shifting to the road.
“This is going to be epic!” Poppy is virtually bouncing in the front seat, her sequined dress twinkling as it catches the streetlights. “Everyone’s going to be there.”
I force a smile, trying not to stare at the way Caleb’s forearms flex as he grips the steering wheel.
The muscle in his jaw tightens when I cross my legs. The sound of my skin squeaks against the leather seats.
“You both look beautiful tonight.” Caleb is British. He came to Australia twenty years ago after he met Poppy’s mom in a bar in London.
Twenty years and his smooth English accent still wraps around his words, making my stomach flip.
“Thanks, Dad.” Poppy grins, fiddling with the radio until pop music fills the silence.
There is something so sexy about him. He looks so different from everyone I know. And I want to reach forward, run my fingers through his light brown hair, mess up its perfect style.
I want him to look into my eyes as I trace the edge of his black-rimmed glasses where they rest on his strong nose.
And then I want to kiss him.
