The Moth and the Flame (When Rivals Play #2) - B.B. Reid Page 0,138

feet brought me to the door, however, the less likely it seemed.

My only hope now was that the door would be locked. Of course, when I turned the knob, it wasn’t. And it wasn’t a coat closet, either. It was an office.

One that made my fingers sticky with anticipation. I mean, I was practically foaming at the mouth. My original plan had been to rob the McNamaras blind before I left. Unfortunately, they were smart enough to keep their small but pricey valuables locked away.

Judging by the ostentatious décor, whoever lived here preferred to flaunt their wealth. I looked around wondering what I should pilfer first when I noticed the large portrait hanging between two windows.

Jackpot!

Where there was a portrait, there was probably a safe. And if lucky, it would be unlocked, but what were the chances of that?

I tiptoed across the room and gaped when I saw the people posing in the portrait. I recognized them instantly from the Thanksgiving dinner. The girl I’d teased Jamie about had her father’s eyes and her mother’s striking beauty. While the man looked stern and the woman proud, their daughter seemed resigned. I figured she felt the same way I would if I were forced to take such a stuffy photo. My gaze drifted back to the mother and the glistening string of pearls around her neck.

I’d bet my next meal they were real.

I used to dream of finer things like any little girl. A pony, a castle, and a prince charming to dote on me, but after my parents took off, my dreams changed, and the only thing I wanted was to never depend on anyone ever again. But then I met Wren, and my dreams changed once more.

Grabbing the portrait by its sides, I started to lift it when a shriek of outrage had me jumping away. Thinking I’d been caught red-handed, I spun around with my hands raised high but quickly realized I was still alone.

What the hell?

The moment I heard shouting, I took off for the stairs. I should have made for the door, but Jamie was sort of my friend. Leaving him behind wasn’t something I could do. I made it upstairs and called his name, but there was no response, only more shouting that sounded too muffled to be close. That was when I noticed another staircase and took it at a jog to the third floor.

“Jamie?” I shouted, not caring anymore if whoever he pissed off knew I was here.

“Yeah?” he answered, sounding way too calm. I followed his voice and found him in a standoff with the beauty from the portrait. I raked over my memory for her name.

Was it Barbara? Betty…Babar?

She was seriously pissed off as she clutched a towel around her naked body. She was dripping water all over the pristine carpet, but she didn’t seem to care as she glared daggers at Jamie.

Those daggers were suddenly aimed my way when she noticed me standing in the doorway. She turned back to Jamie but not before I caught the flash of jealousy in her eyes. “And you brought one of your sluts?”

“Jealous?” I teased her with a giggle. I didn’t take offense to being called a slut. I’d have done much worse if I caught Wren even breathing around some chick and wouldn’t give a fuck if she was eighty years old or eight.

“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” she spat without sparing me another glance.

“All the same.” Jamie shrugged. “She’s not a slut. She’s my friend.”

“What’s the difference?” she shouted.

“The difference is,” I interjected before Jamie could make it worse, “we never have and never will.”

She looked at me, studied me, and I mean really studied me. I felt like a bug under a magnifying glass right before she squished me under her heel.

“You were at the dinner,” she said when she was done picking me apart with her eyes.

“Yup.”

Her eyes narrowed. “But you don’t go to Brynwood.” It wasn’t a question.

“You couldn’t pay me to wear the uniform.”

I wasn’t sure, but I could swear I saw a small smile forming on her lips before Jamie wiped it away.

“Why aren’t you at the country club with your parents?”

“I wasn’t feeling well.”

His eyebrows pulled together before he stepped closer and placed his hand on her forehead. His touch was familiar despite the tension between them. “You don’t feel warm.”

“It was just a bit of nausea,” she breathlessly assured him.

He didn’t respond, and I realized he was watching her closely for signs that