Page 149 of Sugar

“The way you wrap everyone around your little finger.”

“You included?”

“Particularly me. I have the control, but you have all the power, mine. You know that.”

She didn’t seem to know that, but she faked haughtiness anyway. “It’s still good to hear. Let’s go bust up a party.”

Climbing out, I rounded the car and kept a tight hold on her as we walked up the driveway. I made eye contact with the drunk who’d busted the door. “Unless you want to be arrested for that property damage, get the fuck out.”

His bleary eyes blinked at me. “Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?”

“DEA agent. Here with a warrant to search the property for drugs.”

He didn’t question it.

He was too busy running.

Thankfully, he did it through the house as he shouted, “Cops. DEA.Drugs!”

He could’ve lit the damn place on fire, and it wouldn’t have been as effective at clearing it out. The people inside, at least.

The backyard was still packed with party crashers. Someone played DJ with a MacBook connected to the built-in speakers under the stone gazebo. People danced along the edge of the pool and in the grass.

I glanced sideways before doing a double take at the three bodies intertwined. The lone male wasn’t Tripp, but he was the next best thing. “Alex.”

He separated from the tangle of limbs. “Easton? Er, I mean, Mr. Wells. What’re you doing here?”

“Where’s Tripp?”

He shrugged. “He was inside playing strip foosball earlier.”

Of course he was.

“Isn’t it your job to keep watch of him, not drink his expensive tequila and fuck on his patio furniture?” I bit out, ignoring the slashing motion he made across his throat.

He kept his tone low and his words vague. “My job is to keep him happy.” He gestured around. “That’s what I did.”

“Wait.” The blonder of the two blondes shot a suspicious glare at him. “Why would that be your job? You said you had some pull at a studio.”

“I do,” he blustered.

“Does that mean you can’t get us auditions?” the other pouted.

I cut in, not because I cared about them, but because Alex’s incompetence shouldn’t be rewarded. “The only pull he has is to get you extra dressing on your salad. He’s a personal assistant.”

With a drink dumped over his head and some creative insults, his companions stomped off into the night. Since I had more important things to deal with, I grabbed Maddie’s hand and moved toward the gazebo to get a better vantage point.

She waited until we were closer to the DJ before she loudly asked, “So you’re a DEA agent? What’s that even mean?”

The song cut off abruptly and the sound of sirens blared from the speakers as the man yelled, “Po-po!”

The sirens only lasted another second before he and his MacBook took off around the house.

“I’m old, and even I know people don’t say that anymore,” I grumbled, scanning the fleeing masses.

“Maybe he locked himself upstairs…” Maddie started before tugging my sleeve. “Or maybe not.”

I followed her line of sight to see that Tripp was on an oversized float in the pool—clothes and all. None of the party attendees stopped to say goodbye or help or even acknowledge their host as they abandoned him.

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