Page 4 of Pretty Little Threats

Dare arches his eyebrows and turns the page, slowly, as if to see how much of a rise he can get out of me. The next sketch is a self-portrait, of sorts. A singular eye, hazel green like mine, with a little girl inside the pupil, her mouth covered by a man’s hand. I drew it after a particularly frustrating argument with my dad, where he told me my job was to fall in line, not voice my opinion. Dad apologized later, and we’re fine now, but the sketch is too personal for someone like Dare to see.

Now that I think about it, the entire book is full of parts of me I don’t want him to see.

He studies the fine lines and shading for a moment, then his gaze lifts to meet mine. “This is really good.”

His words slither through my walls, speaking to the woman who’s always been embarrassed of her creative side because it was never accepted or appreciated. There’s no room for art in world domination. Those exact words are what I’ve always hoped my dad would tell me when he saw my work, but that’s never been the case. The compliment is the opposite of what I anticipated, and I can’t stand it coming from Dare, of all people.

Before I can think better of it, I reach across the table and grasp the edges of the notebook, ready to yank it back, but his grip tightens.

“Dare.” My voice is rough with anger, and I don’t even recognize it as my own. “Let go. Now.”

Tipping his head, he searches my face. “Why don’t you want me to look?”

“Why do youwantto look?” I fire back.

His lips twitch and he changes course. “Fine, I’ll give it back to you if you give me a kiss.”

“Fuck you.”

He glances around. “In front of everyone?”

“I bet you couldn’t even get it up.”

“Have a little more confidence in yourself, Rose.” His gaze strays down to my chest, and if I’m not mistaken, those soulless eyes fill with hunger.

I think the fuck not.

“I hate you.”

“Mmm.” His lips quirk into an infuriating smile. “That’ll make the sex even better.”

Huffing, I tug on my sketch pad, but he doesn’t relent. “You’re disgusting.”

“Careful, princess,” he warns. “Your emotions are showing.”

Scowling—because he’s right—I take a breath andcollect myself, swallowing my anger and redirecting the conversation to what really matters. “What does this bakery mean to you?” Knowing he has some stake in it is nothing without understanding his reasons. Why would a billionaire like Dare keep a hole-in-the-wall place like this?

He lets go of the book so abruptly, I fall back into my seat. “Don’t start a game you can’t end.”

“There’s no game.”

He scoffs and rises, leaning over the table again to intimidate me. “There’s always a game, and you’re a pawn in your daddy’s.”

Oh, sick burn.

This isn’t the first time someone has implied my dad uses me, but if I’m meant to take over as chair of the board for JD Miller & Co someday, another part of the plan laid out for me, I have to learn to play. I have to be as cunning and strategic as my dad. I have to learn how to hold power over those who would seek to destroy what we’ve built.

“Did he send you on this little errand?” Dare asks.

“Like I said, I came for breakfast.” And a little time to indulge myself, but Dare has ruined the melancholic peace I found.

Fighting a scowl, I gather my things, sliding them into my oversized purse hanging on the back of the chair next to him. The table is so small, my forearm brushes over his. Heat shoots through my arm and into my chest. My body is already such a conflicting mix of emotions that I can’t even begin to understand what that might mean. I yank my bag off the chair and stand, forcing him to straighten unless he wants his face buried in my boobs, but luckily, Dare hates me as much as I hate him. He stands to his full height, a wall of solid muscle blocking my path.

I tip my head back, glaring at him, despite the trickle of fear seeping through my veins. “You’re in my way.”

“And what are you going to do about it, Rose?” The hard edge of his voice makes me want to run, and he must see it in my expression, because a smirk slowly cuts across his face.

Staying rooted to my spot, I force myself to slip back into the mask of indifference. He’s gained the upper hand more than once in this short conversation, and now he knows he can intimidate me. Maybe it’s time for him to know what that’s like. “Tell me,Dare, how are your sisters?”

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