The Playboy's Dangerous Bet

I

k onto the couch and take

ving room ceiling, the vent above the stove,

a camer

tting seri

e Apex Christmas party last year after three too many bour

some professional stalker to rattle me into signing a

id-silk emerald dress an

s he is, but I am not playing h

p a photo of both items,

from the guy at the coffee

for her to ty

e times befor

ike the phone is pressed against a velvet cushion. In the background bas

ing on your taste in clothes," Gia pants. "Tho

from my ear and stare

cou

d her to go to a club

the door to find a warm body because I m

ocked she wor

the point, Gia! Did you not see the black card

about his secret side piece," she says, sounding too re

e murmurs right next to her

the receiver. "If you hate the interruption, there

e other end, followed by the

you go meet the hot psycho and hear what he has to say. If you don't go, I support you. And if you're planning on trashing that dress,

I'm

owed by the unmistakable sound of mouths col

l button before I end u

ot doi

ktail dress sent by a stalker and cl

thrillers for a living

ing over Ben's contact. It's been twent

in. Is Marcus

st immediately. I hold my breath, leaning

tay at his hotel for a while and rework the numbers with his agent. I do

the glowi

ink. I don

on. Every Friday night, without

d the tradition, he has n

ot when his car broke down

night he was going to pull a diamond ri

, high-pitched whine drowning

'd be right ba

coming ba

op knew my boyfriend was going

the dark emerald dress spilling o

ng to my face after two years, I am not sitting in this q

hove this gold card straight

ut of it, I unbutton the blouse Ben touched, rip it

e-gold Velvet Tears

f my wool winter coat, throw it on over

the curb downstairs, right whe

single question. And he

to a halt in a desolate industrial

monolithic brick warehouse with an unmarked steel

he bulges beneath their su

l fir

vement, the bitter night wind

nds, I freeze

get back in

or an answer.

d force my boots to carr

to my path. He is a wall of

r coat, turtleneck, and jeans,

rumbles. "You don't

atte-gold keycard out of my coat po

k at the weeping eye engravin

er thr

ts straight through the dark

breath catching

overhang into the dim, flicker

leather jacket fr

buttons undone at the collar just enough to look effo

head like he just stepped out of a hot shower, e

dge. He doesn't look like a m

ke a man wh

blue eyes raking slowly, deliberately over my

sn't to your liking," h

myself to wear a gift from a

e replies smoothly. "

eded the dress as a key, why did

card up between

ually

pinched between my fingers, th

ting ghost of a smirk tugs

r po

ad you

t was camouflage for the people inside. You walk in there dressed like a college librarian, every pair o

. "I'm here. I showed up. So whatever sick psychological game you're playi

t watches me, unbothered

oing this on

en't doing

uthoritarian drawl that vibrates straight through my ribs. "You don't get to call the shots

lunatic

clothes!" I hiss, clutching my coat tighter aro

pace, erasing the buffer of cold

ood and night air wr

way back just to hold his gaze, my heart s

e like crosshairs. "Or you are getting back in that car, going home to an empty bed, and spe

iv

e in that rough, gravelly whisper sends

courier.

an? And how does he kn