Page 52 of Mexico Can Choke On It
As soon as the words escape my lips, I know I’ve made mistake number two. Telling Petra not to do something is like telling a storm not to rage. She doesn’t just double down—she triples down, adds fireworks, and invites spectators.
Her lips—those full, dangerous, perpetually sassy red lips—curve into a smirk that makes my blood run simultaneously hot and cold.
“But surprises are the best part, Moneybags.” She slides her arm through mine, her body heat seeping into my side. “And if it really bothers you, then why do your pupils dilate whenever I’m being naughty?”
I cough lightly into my fist—the most professional move I can manage while my brain fights my body’s suggestion to kiss her hard against the nearest statue.
“I think,” I say carefully, “it would serve us both if you tried—just this once—to be ladylike.”
She leans in, whispering in my ear, “Fine, I’ll play your little arm-candy charade. But, so we’re clear”—her voice drops to that dangerous purr—“there’s not a single ladylike thing about me. Especially between the sheets.”
There’s the proper reaction to that line. And then there’s the one I’m having… in my pants.
She flashes a smile that says,busted.Hard.
Getit together, Sterling. You’re about to face Gavin, and explaining why you’re mentally undressing his sister is not going to help your CEO exit strategy.
“Your party has assembled in the drawing room,” Nigel announces, ushering us forward.
I nod, then immediately turn to Petra. “No touching the art, no asking people their net worth, and please—for the love of God—don’t challenge anyone to a drinking contest.”
“So basically, you want me sedated.” She bats her eyelashes innocently. “What about breathing? Is that allowed?”
“Breathing is permitted. Minimally.”
The doors swing open to reveal a room that makes the Palace of Versailles look like a fixer-upper. The ceilings soar two stories high. Chandeliers twinkle with the soft glow of aged crystal. Everything is baroque or Victorian. The air smells of beeswax, old books, and that indefinable scent of extreme privilege.
Clusters of people are spread out across the room, but Petra’s focus goes directly to the huge oil painting above the fireplace.
The nameplate reads:Miss Muffy Von Cashmere.
The elderly woman in the portrait stares down with the kind of aristocratic disdain that only comes from generations of people bowing upon your entrance. Her silver hair is sculpted into an architectural masterpiece. Her face is a map of refined wrinkles—the kind that come from pursing your lips at inadequate table settings.
But the true masterpiece is the dog in her lap—a pristine white Maltese with fur so perfectly groomed, it makes the woman’s hair appear unkempt. The pet wears matching pearls and a custom Chanel suit identical to its owner’s, down to the black piping andgold buttons. Somehow, the dog’s expression is even more judgmental than the woman’s.
“Seriously? The old broad who plays dress-up with her dog is the one looking down on everybody?”
“I should tell you, Miss Mu—”
“Gav-Gav! Look who’s arrived,” Fiona says from the other side of the ballroom. Petra’s body tenses by my side.
“Bryce is here with Amand—” The sentence stalls on her tongue as we turn from the oversized canvas to the group.
“Petra?! Oh my God, is that really you?” Fiona’s eyes perform a head-to-toe scan of Petra’s outfit, her expression cycling through shock, confusion, and unmistakable jealousy. “I hardly recognized you.”
Gavin swoops in with a surprise bear hug that pries Petra’s arm from mine. Her warmth vanishes, and disturbingly, I’m already calculating how many seconds I need to wait before reclaiming her arm without seeming like a caveman.
“Thanks for coming, sis.”
“That vest,” Fiona says. “Is that Valentino’s new collection? I’ve been waitlisted for months.”
“Beats me.” Petra shrugs. “You’d have to ask Sebastian.”
“Sebastian Bellini styled you?!”
“Yeah. Weird, right? Though you gotta be careful with wardrobe malfunctions in this thing. One wrong move, and it’s hello, nipple city.” She throws me a wicked grin.
I extend my arm toward her. “Well, since we’ve just arrived, we should freshen up in our room—” Horror dawns as I hear my own words. “Rooms!Our separate rooms. That are near each other.”
