My Five Night Fling by Maci Dillon
KASSIDY
The doorbell chimes.
I’m flushed from cramming into my corset and garter stockings after I styled my hair and painted my face. I’ve mastered the porcelain and oh-so twenties look.
“Coming,” I yell, unsure how soundproof these walls are.
Racing down the hall to the front door, I pause, taking a moment to center myself. Inhaling deeply, I run my hands down my corset.
I open the door and stand against it, pin-up style.
Jarett’s mouth falls open, and his facial features darken as he soaks up my outfit, perusing my body like a starved predator.
“Kassidy, holy fuck.” His words fall from his lips in a coarse whisper.
Gangster Jarett is hot as fuck too. He wears those suspenders and top hat like a boss.
I swing my arm out, inviting him in. He stumbles through the door, lost for words.
“You’re looking dapper yourself,” I purr, closing the door behind us. When I turn, Jarett is staring at my legs. Specifically, my exposed thighs between where the fishnet stockings end and my corset begins.
Instantly, I twitch, standing uneasy on my heels.
Exposed and insecure.
He drags his gaze to my face and must see my internal agony.
“Sweetheart, you look hot as fucking hell.” He runs his fingers over his chin as if contemplating what to say next.
“But?”
Jarett hesitates a moment before shaking his head. “But nothing. You’re so fucking sexy, I’m speechless.”
I eye him curiously before I explain it is Sophia’s wish for all the women to wear slutty over elegant costumes.
“Ah.” He nods, his lips forming in a straight line. “Of course, she did.”
I give him a raised-eyebrow quizzical look to which he responds with a shrug. “That’s my sister for you.”
He forces out a laugh, but it’s uneasy.
“If you’re embarrassed to accompany me wearing this costume, Jarett, say it now, and we won’t be seen together.”
“What? No. I’m not letting you out of my sight dressed like that. I don’t want men drooling over my woman.”
I smile. “Your woman, huh?”
“That’s what I said, sweetheart.”
“One minute,” I say, pointing a finger at him. Retreating to my bedroom, I fetch my teal feather boa to complete the look. One last look in the mirror, I pucker and smack my red-hot lips together.
Flicking off the lights, we’re ready for the night to begin.
We enter the speakeasy together on what feels like our first official date as a couple. Secured to Jarett’s arm, I peruse the room full of guests, looking for the lady of the evening. The décor is epic, every bit of what you’d expect for a roaring twenties party. Centerpieces grace every table, and a photo booth is set up in the corner opposite the band.
Guests mill around talking, laughing, and sipping on drinks of all kinds, mixes that can only be found here at Max’s bar. Her mixology and creativity are inspiring. She brought in extra staff tonight to help as she’s here as a guest. Though, I’m not surprised when I spot her pouring drinks behind the bar. Roman is sitting on the opposite side watching her intently.
Jarett guides us through the crowd. “Where’s the lady of honor?” he asks, pulling out two seats beside his brother.
“Planning her grand entrance, of course,” Max answers with a smile and playful eye roll.
“I was under the impression you were a guest, not bar staff tonight, Max,” Jarett states.
Roman jumps in. “Exactly what I was just saying but women…” he huffs, “… they never listen.”
“No, you didn’t just lump all us women together in that statement, Mr. Evans,” I chide.
Roman laughs and pecks me on the cheek. His eyes wander respectfully over my body. “Damn, Kassidy, the twenties look good on you.”
“Don’t start,” Jarett warns, and we all laugh.
The music lulls as we’re finishing our first drink, and still, we haven’t seen Sophia. Finger treats are being passed around on trays by waiters dressed in matching black and white gangster outfits, followed by a waitress in matching barely-there flapper dresses dispensing glasses of champagne to all the guests.
“We ask that everyone please get themselves a glass of bubbly in preparation for the birthday toast upon the arrival of Lady Sophia,” the MC announces over the microphone from the stage.
Roman and Jarett both groan at either side of me. “Classic Sophia.” Jarett laughs, and I poke him with a scowl to keep him quiet.
Music commences again, a classic introduction, and the lights dim throughout, except for those in the stairs, and a huge chandelier lights up the bottom of the stairs waiting for Sophia to arrive.
As the music peters out to soft background noise, the crowd gasps, oohing and aahing as Sophia descends the stairs. With a man on her arm, his head is down, attention on the stairs as he guides Sophia safely to her party.
She’s decadently dressed as a twenties whore. No doubt the exact look she’s going for—her brown locks pinned back in a bob, a head of jewels, and long satin gloves adorning her slender arms. A sequin-covered gold corset pinches at her waist, boosting her voluptuous curves while her girls bust perfectly out the top. She’s all class and all legs with strings of pearls falling daintily from the bottom of her corset.
“Who’s the dude?” Roman queries.
“Not a clue, but I think we should take him out back and suss him out.” Jarett is very fond of his sister and outrageously protective. Roman nods in agreement.
Poor Sophia. She has no hope of keeping a man in her life with these two fools around.
The couple in question steps into the limelight, and that’s when the man on her arm raises his head and removes his hat.
What. The. Fuck.
“Presenting to you, Ms. Sophia Evans accompanied this evening by Mr. Gabe Lugreno. Please raise your glasses for a toast. Happy birthday, Lady Sophia, and congratulations on forty fabulous years. May the next forty be equally as brilliant.”
No, it can’t be.
“You can’t be fucking serious.” Jarett spits dirt beside me.
I snap my head toward him with a frown and whisper, “Do you know him?”
His eyes never leave Sophia and Gabe as he gulps his full beer in three goes. “You could say that.”
A dreaded unease falls over me. “Jarett, that’s my new boss.”
“I know.”
