Page 60 of Mess With Me

I scowl. “Maybe.”

“I strongly believe Vivian is the evil queen in a fairytale come to life,” Cassandra said recently.

I warned Sasha on our way here, but she just smiled. “Please. I work in the snootiest boutique in the West Village. At least, I used to. I was supposed to show up for a shift today…”

She shrugged, not seeming too bothered about it.

Now, as she walks in with her chin high, I suddenly feel like I must look like the inverse of how Sasha looked in my cabin. There’s classical music streaming from the speakers, and the whole place smells subtly like expensive perfume. Frilly clothes hang off faceless mannequins throughout the shop, and a huge bouquet of flowers sits on a podium in the middle of the room among all the racks of clothes. Meanwhile I’m wearing work boots and have grease on my knuckles.

“Fuck me,” I say.

Sasha giggles.

“You love this, don’t you?”

She looks back at me and winks, and the surge of heat I felt in my lower half when I ate that orange returns.

I don’t know what possessed me to do that. I think it’s because when she jumped in front of me, that little twinkle in her eyes, all I could think about was how much I would have loved that little repartee in bed. Her thinking she had control over me.

Me taking it back in one easy move.

My dick decides now’s a great time to get stiff, so I make like I’m interested in a rack of pants next to me.

Out of nowhere, an Asian woman with a black bob materializes beside us.

Her hair has a single streak of silver in the front, and with the red lipstick, she’s giving off real Cruella de Vil vibes.

“Mr. Kelly,” she says snippily.

I’m shocked she knows who I am. “I—”

“I know who you are. Griffin.” She says my name with deep disdain. “The most mysterious of the Kelly brood.”

I frown.

“And you brought a friend?”

“I’m Sasha M—” Sasha says, but cuts herself off. “Mm-hmm, nice to meet you.” She extends a hand.

I bite my cheek. I’ll have to give her a hard time about that later,mm-hmm.

Vivian inspects Sasha’s hand for a full second before taking it in hers. “Vivian Lau. That’s a Ferretti pant, if I’m not mistaken.”

I’m not sure why she only named half her pants, but I don’t pretend to understand fashion.

“You’re not,” Sasha says, smiling affably. “He was my favorite in Milan last year.”

Vivian’s eyes flare. Is that her way of showing respect? “Mmm,” she says noncommittally.

I pull a shirt out from among its mates just for something to occupy my hands. Then I choke when I see the price tag. “Is this a misprint?” I whisper to Sasha.

Sasha comes over and peers at the tag. “Oh no, pretty standard for aMayumiblouse.”

“This shirt cost more than my first car.” I drop the shirt like it’s on fire. “You know there’s a Bargain Betty down the street, right?”

“Good lord,” Vivian says. If she had pearls, I’m sure she’d be clutching them. She turns her attention to Sasha. “Tell me, what are you doing down from New York?”

Sasha frowns. “How did you—”

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