She gasps, setting her drink down to stand. Grabbing at my hand, she half-drags me to my bedroom before shoving me onto my bed. Thankfully, my glass isn’t quite as full as hers and I manage to not spill a drop.

Sophie jumps up, mewling and hissing her displeasure at being disturbed upon her throne, also known as my bed. I hiss back, knowing I’ll pay for the disobedience later. There’s definitely a hairball in my future.

I consider for a moment whether Tiffany’s making a play for me as she eyes me thoughtfully. But she throws open my closet and digs in, pulling out skirts and tops.

If it’d been me, my room would’ve been a tornado of clothes in moments. Tiffany is methodical, though, lining up three tops that she eyes critically.

“Sexy, but not overtly so. You don’t want to look like you got the promotion on your knees.”

“On my ass, actually. I fell off the copy machine to the floor. It was a full Hello Kitty situation. Thank God I’d waxed recently.” I cringe, knowing that waxing is uncomfortable as hell, but flashing full bush at Colton Wolfe would’ve been a million times more painful.

Tiffany smiles but remains focused. “Not chaste and matronly. You don’t want to look like a virgin unless that’s his kink.” She looks at me like I’d have any idea. Actually, I shake my head, pretty sure that’s not the way to his cock. Tiffany nods her agreement with my assessment. “But professional, of course.”

“This one,” she decides, holding up a grey button-up shirt. It’s the softest cotton, which is why I bought it, but rather plain.

“Really?” I question. She’s more of a fashionista than me, but that shirt screams bland and blah.

She throws it at me. “Just you wait and see. Trust me, put it on.”

I pull off my comfy T-shirt and put on the grey one Tiff’s selected, buttoning it up. In the mirror, I look a little Risky Business in just the shirt and socks. Well, maybe like a college girl’s Halloween slut version of the outfit because my braless nipples are quite apparent through the thin cotton.

Hello, Headlights!

Tiffany pulls a deep plum skirt from my closet next. “And this.” She instructs me to slip it on with a wave of her hand. I do as ordered while she digs around in my dresser. “Hose.” She hands me a pair of thigh-highs, my favorite ones, actually, that are the same dark purple as the skirt, but silky sheer with small polka dots for some flair. “And last but not least, jewelry. Get it?”

She holds out a multi-strand necklace of faux pearls. “I am not wearing a pearl necklace to my first day on the job with Colton Wolfe.” The argument is useless in the face of Tiffany’s intelligence.

“I dare you to.” Her brow quirks, knowing she’s got me. “He might not even get the reference. It’s probably called something else in London.” I eye the necklace warily. “The queen’s choker?” she postulates.

I still don’t agree, but I carefully pull the hose up my legs. Tiffany hands me a pair of black heels, and I slip them on as I look in the mirror.

“Hair up, but leave a few ringlets loose. Professional makeup with a burgundy lip, something that goes with but doesn’t match the skirt.” Tiffany gathers my hair in her hand, holding it on top of my head mimicking a bun. “You’ll have the sexy librarian look down pat, and something tells me that’s the way into Colton Wolfe’s . . . trousers.”

“I’m not getting into his pants, Tiff.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, not till he gets in yours, of course. Ladies first. Always. It’s a sign of a true gentleman.”

“He’s just using me to fuck with Dad. He told me as much, so don’t go getting your hopes up that this is some Cinderella story.” I sound sad about that, even to my own ears.

Tiffany’s pity is loud and clear. “That’s what he said. And it’s probably even true. But it’s not the only reason. Look at yourself, girl.” She uses her grip on my hair to wiggle my head around, forcing me to look my reflection in the eye.

“I feel like a traitor,” I say softly, not looking at Tiffany because I don’t want to see her reaction.

She lets go of my hair, her mouth rounding. “Oh, honey, don’t. No one is going to think that, least of all your dad.” That she calls him that and not ‘Daddy’ shows me how seriously she’s taking this right now. It must be requiring all of her brain power, considering how many glasses of wine she’s put down.

She blinks, and the seriousness is gone in favor of something she knows will persuade me more than sweet platitudes.

“You’re a daredevil on an adventure. Elle Stryker, Secret Agent, working side by side with the dashing, debonair Colton Wolfe while secretly helping her father. You’re like one set of handcuffs and a nunchaku fight away from your own superhero action show, and I bet you could get Colton to help with the handcuff issue.” She winks knowingly.

She’s right. There’s something about Colton that makes me want to know more—the way he dances between frosty formality and risqué entendre, the honest surprise at my confession that I’d been trying to get his attention, the bold declaration that he was going to use me. But what intrigues me the most was his quiet admission that he thinks he’s boring and in need of fun. I don’t share that with Tiffany, selfishly wanting to keep that tidbit to myself.

Mine! My precious! my inner Gollum screeches.

But this is a dangerous game I’m playing, one I’m woefully unprepared for. Everyone knows who my dad is, and as soon as word gets out about my new position, I’ll be the topic of every water cooler conversation.

Fuck it, I think as I take the pearl necklace from Tiffany’s hand. Might as well give them something easy to nitpick.

And she’s right. I do look fucking fabulous. Sexy librarian, indeed.

Shush . . .

The next morning, my guts have taken a flying leap off the top of the building, leaving me a nervous mess.

Everything’s going great until my phone rings.

“Tiff? What’s up?” She never calls me in the morning, both of us too in a hurry to have time to gab.

A strange noise comes through the phone, and for a moment, I think she’s being murdered and somehow managed to butt dial me for help.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to call 9-1-1 or come kick ass?” A horrible thought peeks out from the recesses in my mind and I grip the phone, whispering, “Did you kill Ace? Should I bring a shovel?”

Considering we live in the city and any deserted land is well outside the city limits, I hope it’s not that. And mental note, I need to lay off the I Almost Got Away With It binge watching.

That same strange noise happens again.

“Early. I need you to come and get me early. It’s an emergency, Elle. As soon as possible, please.” I realize that sound is her growling angrily and sobbing uncontrollably at the same time.

“Are you okay? Is Ace okay?” I venture. “Wait, don’t answer that. They might be listening.” I don’t know who they are, but if today is the first day of my Secret Agent spy show, I don’t want to start it by causing my bestie to incriminate herself. “I’m on my way.”

“Thanks.” She must pull the phone from her ear because I hear her yell from a distance, “I am going to murder you in your sleep, Ace Young.” And then the line goes dead.