My emotions were full of poutiness and frustration. I could just tell him I was ready now. But I wasn’t a four-year-old, and he was right. It would be a waste not to go in for a second—especially after Fleur’s wardrobe ministrations.

Not that I approved.

The dress she’d chosen was the most daring, risqué thing I’d ever worn. For a cocktail get-together, she’d gone over the top with a russet-gold silk gown that slinked around my ankles and split up one leg to mid-thigh. The back was non-existent with just enough height to cover my ass but leave my spine exposed, while the front swooped up to my throat in a gathered cowl.

She’d even gone as far to do my hair for me. She’d fishtail braided it, so it sat over my left shoulder and kept my naked back on display.

The entire time she fussed with my hair and makeup, I’d muttered she was fired and to start looking for other employment.

But once she showed me the finished product, shoved me into the car, and told me my date would meet me there, I had to admit a smidgen (a teeny tiny smidgen) of excitement filled me to have a night out with people other than business associates or my father and Steve.

And to be honest, I looked forward to spending an evening looking the way I did while tormenting and verbally sparring with Mr. Everett. It was the thought of him being there to take the spotlight off me from the nasty school girls that moved my unwilling feet into the nightclub where a small section had been roped off for our reunion.

Palm Politics was a strange blend of tropical fronds and the décor of a court of law. One freedom and sunshine. The other prison and shadow. The bar was the podium where the judge would sit and the booths dotted around were a mini oasis in a boardroom of wood and strobe light sentencing.

Goosebumps covered my skin—partly from cold and partly from anxiety at facing these women again—especially in a place such as this. Why couldn’t it be a simple bar with no theme or message?

I hated anything to do with law courts and police—it only layered my guilt with more rancid icing at the thought of Nameless.

I’d tried. I’d failed. I hadn’t given up but even the weekly phone calls I made to police officers who were kind enough to answer my questions had no news.

If I was a lucky sleeper who enjoyed vibrant dreams, I might’ve concluded he was merely made up of fantasies and heroism, bound together by imagination magic, and made brilliant by adolescent devotion.

But he had to have been real.

I still had the faintest scar on my nape from where my sapphire star had been ripped away, and I still endured the faintest seduction of chocolate on my lips when I was blessed enough to doze in his dream-company.

Standing in the paddling pool of partiers, I doubled my promise to do more. To track him down, no matter the cost.

Starting tomorrow.

Or tonight if I can leave early.

My minor discomfort at being watched by leering judges and glinting prison bars switched to major annoyance as Greg appeared from the crowd, holding a glass of champagne and a gin and tonic.

My heart instantly tobogganed down a cliff and shot off the edge in denial.

Oh, God, I’m so stupid.

Of course, Fleur hadn’t invited Mr. Everett.

No one knew I’d seen him again, and only my father knew what’d happened at the Weeping Willow.

She has no clue he exists, so how could I think she’d invite him as my date?

I’m an idiot.

She hadn’t ruined my aloofness at refusing Mr. Everett’s offer to take me out. But she had sentenced me to endure a terrible evening.

There would be no banter.

No sexy butterflies.

Nothing but obligation to ensure I remained professional—so I didn’t hurt Greg, my father, or Steve, and could look everyone in the eye on Monday with no regrets or dismay.

It didn’t matter my life would be so much simpler if I just gave into what everyone wanted. But my heart was stubborn and didn’t find Greg romance material in the slightest.

“Hi, Elle.” Greg passed me the champagne.

I didn’t even like champagne. If he cared for me as much as he pretended to, he would’ve remembered that from all the forced dinners we’d endured with our fathers.

The night suddenly looked a thousand times worse.

I might be a bitch in the boardroom, but I wasn’t mean, and Greg had dropped whatever plans he had to be here with me just because Fleur had called him.

I wouldn’t be nasty.

But I wouldn’t be overly gracious, either.

“Hello, Greg.” I sipped the cold bubbles, hiding my grimace. “It’s very nice of you to come with me. I hope Fleur didn’t interrupt your evening.”

He grinned, swiping a hand through his dark blond hair as his overly white teeth caught the strobe light glittering above. “Not at all. When she called, I couldn’t believe my luck. Finally, a night out just the two of us.” He leaned in with a wink. “Away from the chaperones.”

I hid my distaste, forcing a smile. “Exactly.”

He slotted himself beside me and, without asking permission, wrapped his arm around my waist. The warmth of his bare forearm tingled my spine and not in a good way. He’d come to this wearing a white t-shirt and black jeans. He looked handsome, of course—he was a good looking guy—but compared to the gown I wore and the finery Fleur had graced me with, I came across as ridiculously overdressed.

My heart plummeted even further off the cliff, splattering on the unforgiving terrain below.

Tonight had slipped from disaster to annihilation. Chloe would never let me live this down if they were all in semi-formal clothing and I appeared dressed like a prom queen.