Page 74 of A Little Crush (The Little Things #6)

VIOLET

Meanwhile…back in Harden Heights

I’m going to kill him. And not just metaphorically.

I mean it in a very literal sense. Like with a knife or a pillow when he’s drunk off his ass or…

Okay, that’s a lie. I do mean it in a very metaphorical sense, but only because I’d never survive prison.

I might be scrappy and used to dealing with shit, but I’m pretty sure my hypothetical cellmate could still snap me like a twig.

I digress. This time? This time, my dad crossed the line.

Squaring my shoulders, I march up the steps to the Harden Estate, trying to squash my interest as I take in the massive property in all its opulent glory. Why? Because, despite knowing what a rare occasion it is to be invited here, now is not the time.

Yeah, the Harden boys are known for throwing pretty epic parties, but not here.

Never here. Or at least, rarely. Usually, they host parties on the beach or in an abandoned warehouse in The Drift or, well, anywhere really.

But here? I wipe my sweaty palms against my thighs and lift my chin an inch higher in hopes of looking like I belong on the premises, though I doubt I’m successful.

It probably would’ve helped if I’d changed out of my threadbare T-shirt and jeans before I left, but I was too pissed to care.

Then again, even if I had thrown on the most expensive dress I’ve found while thrifting, it’s not like it would help.

Nope. I swear the rich can smell poverty like a shark can smell blood in water. The knot in my stomach tightens.

A man with arms the size of tree trunks stands at the twelve-foot tall door. Tattoos swirl along his biceps, making him look even more intimidating than before I noticed the skull and crossbones etched into his dark skin. Speaking of being able to snap me like a twig.

Keep moving , I silently remind myself.

I hang near a group of sorority girls and follow the flock inside, nearly running into a bombshell brunette when she stops at the last second.

“Benji?” She grabs the doorman’s forearm and flips her hair over her shoulder. “You don’t usually play security guard.”

“Paulson had to step away for a minute,” he returns. “Gotta keep an eye on things.”

Grateful for the distraction, I don’t bother sticking around to hear the brunette’s response as I step into the huge house.

It’s packed, and looks straight out of a magazine.

I don’t know, I almost expected the place to feel sterile, but this?

Warm hardwood. Custom casing along the walls.

Gold and brass fixtures. Large, custom artwork expertly placed throughout.

I’m pretty sure my entire home could fit in the entryway and there would still be room for the unlit fireplace tucked further inside.

It is beautiful, though. Dark and moody and provocative.

Just like the owners. The interior designer must’ve made a fortune on this place.

Not the time, Violet , I silently remind myself.

I shake my head and slip around a couple making out at the base of the stairs.

Weed, alcohol, sweat, and perfume mingle in the air like a fog.

A thick, dizzying fog. My nose wrinkles.

I’m late. If I wasn’t, my dad would still be here, paying off his debt after making yet another bad wager on the evening’s festivities.

Asshole.

At least the party hasn’t ended yet. The question is, where do I go from here?

It’s not like I have a plan. I have a bone to pick, sure.

But a plan? An actual, tangible plan with an A, B, and C beside it?

Nope. Nada. I bite the inside of my bottom lip and search the huge area for one of the Harden boys or, at the very least, their right-hand man, Roman, though I really don’t know who I’d prefer to approach less.

None of them is what I’d call a safe option.

Actually, none of them are safe, in general, if the rumors hold even an ounce of truth.

I shove the flood of examples aside, well aware it’ll only make me want to hightail it out of here even more.

In another life, maybe I would. Maybe I’d be able to go home and watch a show with some popcorn, my worries long behind me.

But I don’t have any other options. Not really.

Not if I want to get the hell out of The Drift instead of being swallowed by it like my mom was.

I force another round of oxygen into my lungs, praying it’ll calm my nerves when my body jerks forward. Looking over my shoulder, I find a strange guy with dark hair—aka the culprit who ran into me.

“Shit, sorry,” he apologizes.

“It’s—” I clench my fists, so amped up I’m afraid I might actually yell at the guy for an honest mistake. Letting out a slow breath, I soften my voice. “It’s fine.”

“You sure?” His brows dip. “You look like you’re gonna be sick.”

He’s not far off, though it’s not like my nausea has anything to do with him. Not really. I blame the smothering ambiance and the pit of despair churning in my gut. If tonight doesn’t go how I desperately need it to, I’ll lose my shit.

Digging my fingernails into my palms, I try to focus on the man in front of me. “Do you…do you know who I need to talk to if I want to place a bet? I know it’s one of the Harden brothers, but?—”

He grabs my arm and tugs me to the side of the room. “Jesus, new girl. Ever heard of keeping your voice down?”

Keep my voice down? Is this guy serious? I mean, I get it. Or at least, I would if we were walking around campus or something. It’s not like what the Harden boys are doing isn’t shady at best, but under their own roof? Who’s going to overhear me? The boogeyman?

I try to smooth out my features, attempting to hide my annoyance at Conspiracy Man’s sharpness before saying, “Sorry. I, uh, I’ve never done this before, and I heard…”

“Ford. He’s the guy who can help you out.”

“Ford?”

The stranger shifts his gaze to his left, and I follow it, finding a Harden boy, in the flesh, across the giant family room.

Ford. Got it. Light brown hair, a wide smile with straight, white teeth, and light green eyes.

Yup. He’s definitely a Harden boy, and from what I’ve heard, he’s also the nicest of the bunch.

Maybe this won’t be so impossible after all.

“Ford,” I repeat under my breath. Turning back to Mr. Conspiracy, I add, “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

A gaggle of girls surrounds the youngest Harden brother, though I’m not surprised.

I can almost feel his charisma from here.

Forcing my legs to move, I step around another pretty brunette and paste on a smile, waiting to be addressed as if I’m in line to meet a famous person.

Then again, Ford Harden is famous. He’s like royalty, along with the rest of his brothers, so I guess I’m not too far off-base.

And here I am, about to ask him for a favor. A big favor.

Yeah, this is totally going to blow up in my face.

If he sees me, he doesn’t show it. Nope.

He’s zeroed in on a gorgeous blonde with curves for miles.

Honestly, I’m a little impressed. Not by the girl’s curves––okay, I’m impressed with those too––but with how easily Ford ignores everyone else in the room.

Pretty sure he’s hoping to get laid, and by the look on the girl’s face, I’m going to bet he has nothing to worry about.

If only that was the wager I was here to make.

She looks like she’s on cloud nine just by being in the same vicinity with this guy.

If the situation were any different, I’d turn on my heel and leave them to it.

Problem is, I’m not here to mingle. I’m here to get my money back, and the only way I can do that is to interrupt the flirt-fest unfolding in front of me.

Perfect.

I clear my throat as he goes in for the kill, about to kiss her in the middle of this very crowded room. If he hears me, he doesn’t show it. Seriously, this guy is the king of ignoring me. He kisses her deeply, playing tonsil hockey as he snakes his arm around her waist.

Okay, now this is just awkward.

I clear my throat a little louder, but he still doesn’t acknowledge me.

“Excuse me!” I call out.

He lifts his hand, flipping me off without bothering to tear his mouth from hers.

I repeat, perfect .

Come on, Violet.

“I hate to interrupt, but I’d like to discuss a bet?”

With a groan, he lifts his head from the girl but doesn’t bother looking me in the eye as he tucks his conquest’s hair behind her ear. “I’m not taking any more bets tonight?—”

“I know, but?—”

“Find me later.”

“You don’t understand,” I push.

He drops his hand to his side and sighs. “Duty calls,” he tells his makeout buddy. “Give me two seconds.”

Her bottom lip juts out, but she doesn’t bother arguing as Ford rolls his head toward me. “All right, you win. What do you want?”

“There was a, uh…” I gulp, surprised by how difficult it is to hold the man’s gaze now that he’s finally gracing me with his attention.

Seriously, are the man’s eyes made of emeralds?

They’re so bright, they’re practically glowing.

I look at his chin instead. Focus. “There was a problem with a bet?”

“Problem?” he challenges as if I’ve personally offended him. Then again, maybe I have. He clearly takes his job seriously, and I just shit all over it. Not exactly a great way to butter him up in hopes of convincing the guy to give me my money back.

“Not on your end,” I rush out. “You see, it’s…it’s…”

“What’s the name?”

I force myself to look him in the eye again. “Name?”

“Well, since I don’t recognize you, I’m gonna assume we’re not discussing a bet you placed yourself. Name?”

“Virgil,” I choke out. “Virgil Reeves.”

“Reeves?” His brows pinch before recognition slips over his handsome features. “The old guy?”

My head bobs.

“Is he your dad or grandpa?”

“Sperm donor,” I clarify.

Understanding sparks as he reads between the lines of everything I’m not saying. “I have one of those.”