Fangs, Fate & Other Bad Decisions novel Chapter 54

Chapter 54

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There are moments in life where you know, unequivocally, that you are about to do something that will either earn you you metaphorically (or literally) disemboweled.

This is most certainly one of those moments.

eternal gratitude–or get

The dress box sits before me on my desk, as if it knows the risk of what’s to come. It’s a sleek black rectangle tied with a broad silver ribbon. Understated, yes, but unmistakably expensive. The kind of packaging that whispers instead of screams at its recipient. She’ll notice that, and she’ll appreciate that. Probably.

Probably doesn’t feel like a safe bet when your employer is the Thane Draeven, though.

He told me, very specifically, that he wasn’t going to take Harley to the Draeven Biotech charity gala this weekend. He said it flatly, like he says everything that involves emotional suppression and poor life choices.

“It’s not the right time,” he muttered when I asked him again earlier this morning, like a man planning a war instead of avoiding a woman who clearly makes his ancient, undead heart beat again. “It’ll complicate things.”

Complicate things. Right. Because God forbid the vampire king deal with something as insignificant as messy human feelings, Gah!

I’ve worked for him for decades. I’ve seen him wield power like it’s an extension of his bones, watched him destroy men with a sentence, and collapse empires with an irritated sigh. But nothing–nothing–has ever knocked him off–kilter like Harley fucking Blake.

Her sarcasm, her stubbornness, and her complete lack of awe at his wealth or pedigree. She’s chaos in a hoodie, and yet, he can’t stop looking at her like she hung the damn stars.

Which is why, despite everything he said, and the numerous times he’s said it, I’m doing this anyway.

The dress took me three hours to pick. Not because I doubted the tailor’s t

taste, but because I wanted it to be just right. It had to be sleek, strong, and slightly rebellious. Something that would make her roll her eyes, but still secretly run her fingers over the fabric when no one’s watching.

Purple, of course, in a classic cut with a sharp neckline and bare shoulders. A dress that’ll hug her curves like it was sewn by someone who knew precisely how stubborn women like her carry their armor around their hips.

And the heels? Black and slightly sparkly. Low enough not to piss her off, but high enough that Thane will combust when he

her in them.

I attach a handwritten note. But not from Thane. That would be too much too soon, and he’d murder me twice for even implying it. No, this one’s from someone more unexpected but undoubtedly more appreciated.

Enter Mike.

I text him first to make sure all my bases are covered, and he doesn’t murder me if he finds out I did this without him.

Griffin: I need your help. No, it’s not illegal. Yes, it involves Harley. No, I won’t explain over text. Please

He calls me immediately. Because, of course, he does.

“What’d the boss do this time?” Mike asks instead of a hello, his voice rough with amusement and cigarette smoke.

“He refused to do something he obviously wants, all because he’s afraid he’ll feel things,” I reply dryly. “So I’m interfering. With my innate style

“Tell me where and when,” he says, already onboard. God bless grumpy old men with a soft spot for women who don’t flinch at a man like Thane

Chipce I’m done giving him the details of Saturday night and hang up with a self–satisfied smile on my face, I read the wording on t time:

the note a final

I place it inside the envelope and seal it before I can second–guess myself.

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