The Dare (Truth or Dare Book 1)
The Dare: Chapter 13

I know I can’t see it. I mean, his office is on the other side of the building from the parking lot. Still, I can almost feel Colton’s eyes on me as I climb into my car, and it makes me grin.

“Come on!” Tiffany calls from the passenger seat. “I need some retail therapy and a full disclosure on all things Colton Wolfe. Like does he really eat you all up like the big, bad wolf? And does he say, ‘I’m arriving!’ when he comes? I need to know these things.”

I cut my eyes to her sharply. “What makes you think I have any idea? I’ve only worked for the man for two days, Tiffany.”

Her grin is knowing. “Me thinketh the lady doth protest-eth too much-eth.” Her butchering of Shakespeare makes her sound like she has a lisp, but I get her point.

“I’m not protesting,” I argue uselessly. Tiffany can read me like a book. She’s always been able to, and right now, she’s got those eagle eyes locked on me, scanning for any small tell. I’m not good enough at bluffing, not with her, at least, so I might as well get this over with.

“Fine . . . yes and no.”

It takes her a solid three seconds of blank-faced blinks to replay her questions and then my answers, but once it hits her, she starts shimmy dancing in her seat. Her arms flail around, and she’s kicking my floorboards like they’ve done her wrong.

“Ohmygod! Elle! Yes! Ahh!”

I laugh but can’t help sniping, “Hey, watch the car! Be nice to Cammie.”

Tiffany rubs the dashboard. “So sorry, Cammie girl, but did you hear? Your momma got laid.” Her whisper is to my car, but her eyes and grin are all for me.

I shake my head at her craziness, trying to decide just how much I want to tell her, but ultimately, I know she’ll get everything out of me.

I can at least make her wait, I think evilly.

“Whatever,” I answer, dropping my baby into first and pulling out. I carefully avoid really opening her up until we’re out of the parking lot and onto the private street that wraps around the hill the Fox headquarters is built on, but thankfully, Tiffany stays silent for a bit. She knows that these thirty seconds are mine.

I punch it, all three hundred and seventy-two horsepower leaping at my command, jerking the car forward and leaving a short streak of tire rubber behind us. For thirty seconds, it’s just me, my car, and the road, and life becomes very simple.

Finally, I see the stop sign up ahead and slow it down, following the law as I hit my signal and turn left to take us back toward downtown.

“You know they’re going to figure out who keeps laying rubber on the road, Miss Fast N’ Furious?” Tiffany says, even though she’s grinning. “And no, despite your saying it all the time, I’m not playing Thelma to your damn Louise.”

“And you know I’ve never even gotten a speeding ticket in my life,” I point out. “There are only two times I break the law—that road, and when someone pushes me to do something stupid.” I give her a side-eye.

She balks, offended. “I don’t dare you to do illegal things. That’s rule three.”

I shake my head. “Skinny dipping in a pond on private property, which required trespassing? Ring any bells? Or how about the time you dared me to dine and ditch? Wrong, girl . . . so wrong.”

She smiles sadly. “I felt so bad about that one. Did I ever tell you that I went back and paid the waitress, even gave her a big tip as an apology for being stupid kids?”

My mouth falls open. “One, we weren’t kids. We were nineteen and damn well knew better. Two, I went back and paid too, even gave her twenty bucks on our ten-dollar tab.”

We meet eyes, both surprised that we didn’t know the other had gone back. And then we burst out laughing. “Guess that waitress didn’t mind the dine and dash so much after all. She made bank on us!” Tiffany manages to gasp out between laughs. “But still, we don’t do illegal stuff.”

“Rule three is nothing too illegal. But yeah, as we get older, that’s a moving target. I’m not willing to risk jail time for a thrill.”

“Me neither. But handcuffs? Those are a different story. One you’d best get to telling about Mr. Wolfe unless you want to have this conversation in the middle of Macy’s.”

“Definitely not.”

“All right then, spill. Is he feeding you the D?” She asks this as though she might be asking about the weather, like it’s no big deal to be fucking your boss.

It is a big deal. A very big deal. And a very big D, too, but that’s beside the point. Mostly.

But first, “What makes you think we’ve been intimate?”

She giggles and feigns a fancy old-lady pearl-clutcher accent. “Been intimate? Oh, my heavens!” In her usual voice, she charges right on through me. “What’s got you so formal? It’s sex, Elle, not trade negotiations.”

I shrug, and she continues the charge, full steam ahead.

“Did he tell you we talked this morning?” At my head shake, she smirks. “Girl, your new boss came into work today with that look a man gets after one thing only, then he proceeded to actually smile, even when I threatened him. What magic did you work on him?”

“Just a little somethin’-somethin’ I like to call moi.” It would sound self-aggrandizing if I weren’t so obviously being sarcastic as fuck. “Wait, you threatened him? Colton Wolfe—your boss, my boss, and the one who manages our boss? You threatened him? Have you lost your mind?”

She plants her palm over her chest. “Do you think I don’t have your back, regardless of whose dick you’re getting? You could be screwing the president of the company, the mayor, or a mob boss who would kill me with zero hesitation, but I’m your girl. Ride or die, bitch. I’ve got you and am perfectly willing to threaten to chop damn near anyone to bits for you.”

“You threatened to chop Colton to bits?” I say blankly, still in shock.

She growls like a rabid raccoon when the trash man takes his stash away, her teeth flashing predatorially. “Well, I threatened to turn him into shark chum and spread him across the seven seas if you so much as shed a single tear.”

I blink, her words hitting home. “That is so . . . so . . . sweet! Oh, honey! Thank you!”

Okay, so I might be a bit hysterical, but I swear I’m going to tear up over how awesome my best friend is. And how creative and violent, but mostly how sweet.

At the next stop light, I awkwardly reach across the console to grab her up in a big hug. “I love you too, girl.”

Tiffany’s aw-shucks look does nothing to disguise the happiness in her eyes. “You’ve got me, babe, and I’ve got you. I know you’d do the same for me. Though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t threaten Daddy when I finally get in his pants, ’kay?”

Ugh. All lovey-dovey friendship thoughts vaporize into thin air.

“You are not getting in my dad’s pants, and eww. Just no.”

My face is so screwed up in disgust that I’m probably going to need a wrinkle-reducer mask tonight, but Tiffany just smiles like she knows something I don’t know.

Shit. “You haven’t, right? Wait . . . I don’t want to know.” I shake my head to stop the images from forming. I do not want to see that in any way, shape, form, or fashion. There’s not enough eye bleach to make it go away if it materializes. “Yes, I do. Tell me the truth, bitch.”

“No, I haven’t been in Daddy’s pants.”

I let free a relieved sigh.

“Yet.”

Damn it.

“But speaking of Daddy, what’s his take on the whole Colton sitch? Did he go all growly possessive? ‘No daughter of mine . . .’ Or was he all disappointed dad? ‘Baby, you can’t . . .’ ” She goes in and out of mimicking my dad’s voice.

“He’s furious, of course. He told me Colton was using me to get at him . . . as if that’s some great newsflash I was unaware of.” I roll my eyes, knowing Dad still sees me as his little girl sometimes. “I told him that it would all be fine, for him to work and me to work, and if we all do our best, the best proposal will win.”

Tiffany thinks on that silently for a moment. “That’s true. Or at least it would be if it were just work, but there’s more going on and you know it.”

“I know that.” I point at myself and then her. “And you know that, but my dad doesn’t need to know that. I’ve never told him about my sex life before, so why should this be any different?”

Tiffany points at me sharply, our fingers crossing in between us like a sword fight of fingers. “A-ha, so you admit that Colton is your sex life? Gotcha!”

I laugh. “I said we didn’t have sex. I didn’t say we didn’t do other things, otherwise how would I know that he doesn’t say ‘I’m arriving’ when he comes?”

And at that stupid joke again, we both crack up.

“Let’s get to the mall, girl. We have so much to do and so much to talk about still. Sorry, not sorry, Macy’s.”

Tiffany pulls a piece of pink paper out of her purse. “I made a list of everything I need to replace the stuff Ace destroyed, plus I need a dress for the company dinner.”

“The company dinner. Oh, God, that’s this weekend!” I slap my hand over my mouth, glad that Cammie is responsive enough to hold steady with one hand.

“You did not forget.” At my look of horror, Tiffany’s eyes pop wide. “How could you forget?”

Fire burns in my belly. “Well, I’ve had a lot on my plate, you know?”

My brain’s dropping into warp speed now. Mr. Fox invites the entire company to his estate twice a year, once for a winter holiday party and the other for a spring celebration. It’s an opportunity to see and be seen, get to know people all over the company, and to have an elegant night at a fancy mansion.

I didn’t grow up poor by any stretch. Dad always made plenty, and I never wanted for anything, but Mr. Fox is a different kind of wealthy, and to get to party at his house is a treat. Last year, he had an open bar of top shelf liquor, caviar appetizers, and a full spread of toiletries in the bathroom. I never knew that I would be so impressed with disposable toothbrushes in a guest bathroom, but damn, that did it for me. So much so that I added a few to a drawer at my place, though Tiffany has been the only one to use them so far.

Maybe Colton will use one if he ever sleeps over?

“Earth to Elle. Come in, Elle.” Tiffany is snapping in front of my face and the car behind me is honking. I blink, realizing the light is green.

“Shit, sorry!” I wave, hoping the driver behind me sees the apology. “I totally forgot. This has the potential to be literal hell. I have this image of Dad holding one hand and Colton holding the other and them pulling me like a Gumby until I rip apart.”

Tiffany is quiet for a minute, letting me pull into the mall parking lot and replace a spot far away from other cars. It’s not that I can’t park in the regular spots, but Cammie is antisocial and wants her space. I don’t mind the extra steps to the door because then she stays door-ding free. And yes, my car has parking preferences, and no, I’m not crazy. Much.

“Seriously, babe. Are you okay with everything? You said you have a lot on your plate, and that’s true, but is it too much? Are you caving under the pressure? Freaking out from the stress?” She’s talking fast, worried about me.

“I’m . . .” I search my soul. “Remarkably okay. I mean, there is the whole Gumby thing because it is a lot. I don’t know how it’s all going to play out, either, but that’s never bothered me before. I thrive on chaos. You know that.”

“Just be careful, Elle.” Tiffany is unusually serious.

“I know your dad always has your best interests at heart, even if he’s overbearing about it sometimes. Colton’s still an unknown, though. I know he told you up front that he’s using you, but honestly, that makes me suspicious as hell. It’s like he’s a magician telling you to look right here, and meanwhile, his other hand is doing all sorts of shady shit, and not in the good slight of hand way. Just . . . be careful.”

And now I’m gonna cry again because my bestie is the best in the whole wide world.

“Thanks, Tiff. I will be. I know it’s only been a couple of days, but I feel like I’m getting to know Colton. He is trying to get at Dad, I know that, but I think this is more than that. For both of us.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her about his wanting some fun in his life and about our dares, but I don’t. That feels like it’s private, just mine and Colton’s.

Instead, we head into the mall to tackle Tiffany’s pink list.

“What all do you need?” I ask, already touching a soft cashmere sweater. The grey would look amazing on Tiffany, and I start looking for her size.

“I did a fresh capsule wardrobe plan. Going to stick to basics black, white, and pale grey, with blush pink, burgundy, and teal accent pieces. I need skirts, jeans, tops, and probably a sweater so the A/C doesn’t turn me into a meatsicle. Plus, a versatile dress for the dinner.”

If I didn’t follow Tiffany on Instagram and Pinterest, I wouldn’t have understood a word she just said. But I do, so I do understand.

As chaotic as my closet is, Tiffany’s is equally neat and tidy, which is why Ace’s destruction was so hard on her. Tiffany could pack for two weeks in Europe in ten minutes, travel with only a carry-on suitcase, and look chic as hell the whole time. My closet? I could dress for a costume party, a cocktail party, the office, the gym, a date, and pull out the sweater I wore to the first day of tenth grade. I’ve got it all, and then some. And it’s all shoved in there with zero rhyme or reason. Why not have a hot dog costume next to my favorite band T-shirt? I never know when I’ll need either. And yes, I have worn that hot dog costume within the last year and not on Halloween. Long story, and of course, it was a dare.

But shopping is something we do well, so we make good progress in a short time.

“I dare you . . . to try this one on!” I hold up a pale pink dress with silver sequin flowers.

Tiffany’s nose scrunches cutely. “For what? That is awful!”

I wiggle the dress, and the sequins make a swishy sound against each other. “For the dinner. It’s even in your color palette.”

“Not even if I was pre-partying and drunk on liquor I bought myself would I wear that to Mr. Fox’s fancy dinner. But because you dared me, I’ll try it on.”

“And pose for pictures!”

She rolls her eyes and repeats after me, “And pose for pictures.”

The fitting room has a large, sectioned mirror showing Tiffany every angle of the dress. It really is atrocious, which only makes the pictures that much better as Tiffany reenacts every bridal moment of ‘it’s The One’ about the dress as though it’s fine couture.

“You suck. My turn,” she says as she sorts her stack of clothes into nopes and yeses, leaving the nopes on the rack in the fitting room lobby.

She surprises me, picking a navy-blue lace number that’s actually gorgeous. I expected her to replace the ugliest dress she could get her hands on and then dare me to pose crazily, maybe even send pics to Colton. But as I shimmy into the sheath and Tiffany helps with the zipper, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.

“I dare you to wear it to the dinner.”

Tiffany’s whispering too, like neither of us wants to break the spell the dress has us under. It’s not even all that fancy, not a wedding gown or a red-carpet-worthy dress, but it fits me perfectly, highlighting my every curve while being modestly knee length. Though the last several inches of length are all lace.

I shake my head. “I don’t need a dinner dress. You know I’ve already got things I can wear.” Even as I argue, I don’t stop admiring myself, turning slightly to see the back, which is daringly low-cut and also made reasonable with a lace overlay.

“Uh-uh, I already dared you. You wouldn’t back out on that, would you? Chicken.”

I press my lips together. This isn’t the usual wild and silly dares we do. This is Tiffany daring me to head into a corporate function looking like walking sex. Not in a slutty way, but in a classy, elegant way. I’ve never felt elegantly sexy before, but I do now.

I want Colton to see me in this. I want him to see me schmooze and small talk all night with friends and coworkers and not be able to keep his eyes off me.

And there are those old friends, anticipation and excitement, buzzing in my belly.

I nod to Tiffany in the mirror. Dare accepted. She smiles back soft and sweet, as if she knows this is different too. Like maybe that’s why she dared me to do it.

“Okay, now let’s replace me a dress for the dinner. One that will make Daddy’s tongue loll out but won’t get me fired for looking like a stripper.”

I growl and smack her ass, the pop loud in the empty fitting room. “For the millionth time, you are not fucking my dad, girl. But yeah, let’s replace you a dress too.”