Page 157 of The Contract

Decker.

Why is it that douchebags always have impeccable timing? And why does it look like he’s in a new suit?

His gaze rakes down my body, slow and smug. “Off to get a new wardrobe?”

His eyes linger on Chio’s oversized jacket swallowing my bare skin. Not exactly the best cover-up.

Not sexy. Not modest.

Somewhere in that awkward purgatory between walk of shame and don’t ask.

I pull it tighter and hook Mila’s arm around my shoulder, but she slumps into me like wet laundry.

Dead weight.

She was tipsy before, sure. But this?

Sheesh. I grunt, hitching her higher as she slumps again.

Something’s off.

Right now, she’s barely upright, clinging to me like her freaking bones forgot how to work.

I swear to God, if he spiked her drink…

“We were just leaving,” I snap, adjusting my grip as I drag her toward the nearest exit.

He steps in front of me, blocking my path. Hands in his pockets, smile dialed to peak sleaze.

“But the party’s just starting.”

My stomach turns.

What was it Chio said was about to start? An auction.

Okay. No need to panic. I stamp out my spidey sense, but not entirely. Because I am leaving, and leaving her with Decker is not an option.

I shoulder past Decker without a word, dragging Mila with me.

But he catches her wrist, yanking her back before I make it two steps.

She collapses into his arms like a rag doll, laughing—laughing—as he wraps both arms around her waist, locking her in like she’s his.

Mila melts against him, pliant and smiling.

And unless I’m ready to take a full-on tug-of-war tactic, I need her to meet me halfway.

I grab her hand, squeezing tight. “We need to go.”

She sways.

I lower my voice and drop the code we came up with for emergencies—real emergencies. “Banana flambé.”

She giggles, and it’s light and drunk and entirely unbothered.

Then her head lifts.

“Babe, tell Riles we can’t leave. The party’s just beginning.”

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