The Dare (Truth or Dare Book 1)

That went well, better than expected, judging by the congratulatory handshake Allan gave me as I left the stage. And the triumph tastes sweet. It’s preliminary, one step of many to come, but I’m going to celebrate the progress.

And I made sure I was looking directly at Daniel Stryker as I dropped the bomb that I was hand-selecting his daughter, and only his daughter, to accompany me to London.

He looked ready to lose his cool, even more than when he confronted me in the lift.

And he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. For him to protest now . . . well, that’s just bad form. It’d paint him in a bad light, as an overprotective father and a poor sport, while also torpedoing Elle’s career at the company, something he doesn’t want to do, either.

I fully expect him to have another play here, something to counter me, but I think he’ll play it close to the chest so he can keep it mum. Most likely leveraging Elle herself.

Leaving the garden party, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see Elle’s name.

Elle: You should’ve asked me first.

Me: This way seemed more fun, more daring, I suppose.

She doesn’t answer for a moment, and I climb behind the wheel of my Lotus. I wonder if maybe Daniel has already made his play and I’ve come out on the losing side. At least with Elle. The jury is still out on the proposals.

The drive home is quick, but upstairs, it’s quiet, too quiet, really. Like my office when she was downstairs, my penthouse seemed a lot fuller when she was here with me.

Elle: Dad’s furious. I’m furious.

Me: Which is more important to you? Your wishes or your father’s?

Elle: Both.

Me: I won’t apologize for giving you an opportunity to grow. Neither Gary nor Debra knew about being assigned to my team, yet neither of them is texting me pouty messages.

Elle: GIF of a shovel digging a deeper hole.

Me: Be at the office at ten in the morning if you’re going. We have a lot to do. If not, I’ll inform Ms. Carter of your return to her group.

It’s a line in the sand for us both.

If we proceed, I need her fully committed because this trip is going to be revealing, as well as decidedly important to my potential future at Fox. I need to know that she can be discreet and help me frame this option in the best light, without shying away from the reality of my life in London. And she needs to make the decision to put her own needs and desires, both personal and professional, over her father’s demands.

If she elects to take the easy path and bow out, I will have my answer about our fun as well as our potential work partnership. Elle will eventually have another opportunity. She’s too intelligent not to, but it won’t be at the expense of my own dream.

I would truly hate to leave her behind. She’s already become less of a novelty and more of a fixture in my mind, an injection of freshness to my days. But the choice is hers to make.

Having gotten ready for bed while we texted, I shut off the light, not really knowing if she’s going to come or not. For all I know, she’s going to march in and tell me she’s going to obey Daddy Dearest’s commands.

I’ll be disappointed if she does. Hell, I’m disappointed that she’s not next to me right now. I cup my cock, still unsatisfied even after last night’s wank. It, like me, wants the real thing . . . Elle, not the fantasy of her I imagined as I fisted myself after her teasing and tormenting.

I almost text her again. If we can’t figure out the work stuff, perhaps we could focus on the dares? I could dare her to come over, maybe sway her mind while I sway her body?

My cock jumps hopefully at the idea, but my mind overrides my baser impulses. Elle needs time tonight to make this decision. And while I could probably get her to agree to just about anything while holding her on the edge of an orgasm, I want her to decide clear-headed. She needs to know that she’s capable of standing tall and handling all of this—her father and me, and most importantly, herself.

I’m just getting my Sunday started the next day when my phone beeps, and I look up from my desk, rubbing at my eyes. I must have been gathering wool. It’s nearly nine forty-five, and I’ve already been at work for over an hour. But my phone’s still dinging as if I have a video call coming in.

“Whoever you are, I hope you . . . Lizzie?”

“Wotcher, Coltie!” Lizzie says, grinning. “How’s it hanging, as the Yanks say?”

Her accent immediately takes me home. Here, in the US, everyone thinks I have an accent, but the truth is, I’ve lost some of it from talking to Americans every day. But Lizzie sounds like home. I tease her, wanting her riled up because it makes her accent even thicker. With everything going on, I want to wrap up in the dropped consonants and let the soft elegance wash over me.

“You don’t need to know, and it’s Sunday morning,” I reply with a yawn. “Please tell me you forgot the time difference and aren’t just calling to torture me?”

Lizzie giggles, shaking her head. “You’re getting old, Coltie. Sunday morning? You used to just be getting home at that time, and by the look of things, I haven’t woken you. Are you at work already? Don’t you take the weekends off?”

“Hmph. I am not old, and yes, I’m at work. Americans don’t take off. You can even get fresh-baked cupcakes here in the middle of the night, from a bakery ATM. It’s madness.”

Lizzie laughs, and behind her, I can see she’s sitting in her bed at home, probably enjoying a weekend without school. “That sounds lovely. I think I’d fancy a cupcake right about now.” She shakes her head. “Anyway . . . good news, I got top marks on my exams!”

“That’s great! I’ve got good news too . . . but it’s a surprise.”

Lizzie pouts, her good cheer evaporating. “Ah, that’s rubbish! I get enough surprises with Mum going on and on about her stupid charity galas and what her friends’ daughters are up to.”

I laugh lightly as though she’s joking, but she won’t meet my eyes, even through the screen. “Lizzie, you okay?”

She falls back against her pillow, sighing heavily and rolling her eyes. “I’m fine. Eddie’s just being a right cunt, and there are some stupid boys saying . . . what’s that slang you taught me? Oh, yeah, smack talking.” Even the silly American phrase seems to brighten her mood slightly.

“Eddie’s always going to be Eddie. Nothing you or I can do about him.’ I roll my eyes the same way Lizzie did because it’s the god’s honest truth. Our brother is a douche canoe. I consider teaching Lizzie that word too, but I’m not sure enough of the exact definition other than it’s an insult, but it makes me laugh. Perhaps I’ll save it for when I actually get to London, a vocabulary lesson surprise.

“But the neighborhood boys are different. That shouldn’t happen, Lizzie. Tell Mom or the school. Or if it’s that bad, send Nan to talk to their parents. I bet they’d behave straight away if Nan pinched their ears and dragged them home to Mummy.”

She laughs, but I make a mental note to check on these boys while I’m home. I might be thousands of miles away, but a big brother always protects his little sister.

Lizzie suddenly sits up, grabbing her computer and bringing her face close enough to the camera that I get a clear view up her nose. “Hey, Coltie? Who’s that?”

Lizzie’s pointing behind me, and I turn, nearly jumping out of my skin when I see Elle standing in my doorway. “Oh, uh . . . my assistant,” I tell Lizzie quickly. “Hard at work, you know.”

“She’s cute.”

I feel heat prickling at my neck, and I shake my head. “Yes, well, I should get back to work, Lizzie. I’ll call you soon, yes?”

“Okay, okay. Ta, Coltie! Ta, Assistant!”

Lizzie rings off with a smirk, and I put my phone down, inwardly groaning. I don’t know how much Elle just heard, but Lizzie’s going to be primed for matchmaking when we arrive in London. I’ll have to set her straight right away.

“Mr. Wolfe,” Elle says in greeting. There’s no one here to overhear her calling me by my first name, no one to question the intimacy of that, so her formality screams ‘I’m still mad.’

“Decided I would dress casual today. If the company won’t do casual Fridays, then casual Sundays are a must.”

She’s daring me with her eyes to reprimand her, but I reward her instead, letting my eyes drip slow as molasses from her head to her toes. She’s wearing a T-shirt with some sort of line drawing of a cat, black jeans, and fashionable trainers. With her hair pulled up and her glasses on, she looks like she would be right at home on any college campus or any of the dozen coffee bars within a stone’s throw of here.

“That’s fine. I went casual as well.” I’m looking for common ground, but Elle snorts.

“That is not casual.” She points at me derisively, and I get up from my chair, walking to the front of my desk with my arms outstretched so she can get the full effect.

I perch on the edge of my desk, running the backs of my hands down my polo shirt before slipping them into the pockets of my chinos. “Not a suit, not formal attire, not athletic gear, not pajamas, though I don’t wear those, as you know.” Elle hisses, her eyes narrowing. “Ergo, casual. My shirt’s not even properly tucked in.”

Her eyes drop to my waist, as I knew they would, where the front of my shirt is simply tucked behind my belt. “You have on a belt.”

“Ah, a belt implies that the outfit is no longer casual. I see, my mistake.” I unbuckle the expensive leather, pulling it from the loops with a swoosh. “Now then, casual.”

This banter is not what I expected, not at all. I expected anger or excitement, perhaps resignation. But even this mildly adversarial disagreement is fun. Elle seems to agree because even as she nips and bites verbally, her lips are quirking adorably.

I think we need to address the elephant in the room, though.

“To be honest, I’m glad you’re here at all, regardless of your attire. Though you look lovely. A little nagging voice in my head last night said you wouldn’t show.”

“I figured I owed you an answer one way or another in person,” Elle tells me, sitting on the edge of her desk. I wonder if she’s intentionally mirroring me, putting us on equal ground, or if she did it naturally, instinctually. She has so many layers I want to delve into and decipher and help her develop. “And I’ll admit, you really fucked up my sleep last night. I’m running on about three hours’ shut-eye and two espressos right now.”

“Let me guess . . . one part of you knows that this is a great opportunity, a chance for you to get in on the ground floor of a project that could quickly vault your career if things go right. And as though that’s not enough, there’s also the promise that we can continue exploring what we’ve already started.”

Elle shifts, her hips wiggling from side to side a little at my comment.

“To be clear, those do not have to go hand-in-hand. Either can be exclusive of the other if that’s your wish. Though I find I’m rather enjoying our blend of work and play.”

I purposefully cup my cock, rearranging myself, and Elle’s eyes track the movement hungrily.

She is still mad, but she’s also still as needy as I am to address the fire we built but never put out properly.

“Perhaps. But my father—”

“And there’s the other part. The daughter, who her father wants to remain his little girl, safe and secure by his side, protected from the big, bad Wolfe.”

Elle nods. “His first words were that he flat out forbade me from going. I’m honestly glad that my passport’s locked in my fire safe at home. He looked like he could have broken into my place and stolen it otherwise.”

I smile, enjoying that Daniel is on edge, not just because of the HQ2 proposals, as I’d originally intended, but because I think the growing pains between father and daughter might be good for them too. Good for all of us.

“So, you know what your dad wants you to do. You know what I want you to do. The only question is . . . what do you want to do? And do you have the guts to follow through with any of those options?”

I’m calling into question her boldness, something I know she prides herself on but something she’s currently wavering on.

“I won’t dare you on this. You need to decide.”

She looks disappointed, as if she was hoping she could fall back on me or Tiffany daring her to go. But I won’t allow her to throw that at me if everything implodes. We’re either going together because she wants to accompany me, or I’m going alone because she’s chosen not to go.

She wants to say yes. I can see it in her face, in her body language . . . she wants to go with me. She wants what I promise her, namely, her freedom.

“Tell you what,” I interrupt her loud thoughts. “Don’t think about Daniel today. In fact, don’t even give me an answer until we’re done with today’s work. Just think about how much you could learn, how great an opportunity this is, and even how much fun you’ll have.”

I close the distance between us, pressing myself between her knees. She gasps, her thighs clenching, not to keep me away but to hold me in place against her. The breathy sound of her gasp hitches when she realizes that I’m hard, aching for her. “Colton . . . the office . . .”

“Is empty. It’s just us for now.”

Slowly, giving her time to stop me, I lower my lips toward her. But she doesn’t stop me. In fact, she licks her lips in preparation, and that’s all the permission I need to kiss her. I cup her jaw, sipping at her gently until she opens for me.

She arches, trying to deepen the kiss, but I stay right on the edge of polite snogging, stoking her fire. After a moment, I pull back, tracing her kiss-plumped lip with my thumb.

“Shall we get to work?”

Her smile is full of ice and poison. “You don’t fight fair, Mr. Wolfe.”

“Nor do you, Miss Stryker.” With the starting gun still smoking, we’re off in a race against the clock.

Most of the day is grunt work, setting up the details for our trip. We start off with booking tickets to Heathrow, business class, of course. There’s no way I’m sitting in economy for twelve hours, and I’m not going to put Elle through that, either.

“Should we book for extra baggage?” Elle asks at one point. “I mean, a week of suits plus casual clothing is going to mean laundry. I might have to get Tiffany to plan out my outfits so I can be efficient. She’s a pro, where I’d pack everything I own, just in case.”

“This is a business trip, not a fashion show,” I remind her, tapping my chin as I consider other options. “One and one is fine. If you need anything beyond what you pack, I’ll put it on my credit card.”

Elle looks up, surprised. “What?”

“I said, I’ll take care of it if we’re going somewhere and you need appropriate clothes,” I repeat. “And maybe, just for fun, I’ll take you to AP for a shopping spree.” I wink, but I’m not kidding in the least.

“AP?”

“Agent Provocateur,” I say, smirking. “I bet they have a few pieces you’d look . . . smashing in. I could dare you to give me a fashion show right there in the dressing rooms.”

With the afternoon sun coming in the windows, I can see the flutter of her racing heartbeat in the exposed line of her neck. I think she’s rather excited by the idea, as am I.

“We’ll see, but I feel like you’re counting your chickens before they hatch. I haven’t even said I’m for sure going.”

While that is technically true, we’ve booked two seats on the flight, a two-bedroom suite at the hotel, and she’s planning her wardrobe as we speak. She’s going. She’s just not ready to admit it.

“Touché. And hatched or not, why, exactly, would one need to count chickens?”

Elle’s laughter is raucous. “I have no idea. It’s just an expression.”

“Another delightfully odd one. I’m sure you’ll find some of the slang in London to be amusing as well. I’ve lost the habit of some of it, but hearing Lizzie always makes me smile. I suspect you’ll need translations as much I do here sometimes.”

I’m still talking as if she’s going, and she doesn’t correct me this time, but that she hasn’t said it straight out is beginning to make me nervous. I assumed Daniel would balk and Elle would have some reservations, but I honestly expected her to be certain by now. Truthfully, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d sassily told her father where to stuff it with his overbearing protectiveness. I have a feeling it will come to that before he backs off and lets her alone.

The looming question, though, makes me long for surety, for her to be as invested in this as I am. But she is right about one thing. I don’t fight fair, and there’s one thing I can offer her that Daniel can’t. Well, actually, there are several—a career not based on nepotism, freedom to be her daring self, and world travel. But I have one other thing in mind.

“I’d say we’ve had quite a productive day, wouldn’t you?” Elle looks up and nods agreeably. “Just one thing we haven’t done today.”

She pushes her glasses up, tangling them in her hair as she narrows her gaze. “And what’s that?”

Smart girl. She can hear the change in my tone, the dark desires creeping into what has been our professional conversation.

“We made a dare of twenty-fours of abstinence, and it seemed we both held to the letter of the dare, down to the slowly ticking hands of the clock. However, you did not sound particularly satisfied by your . . . what did you call it? Lackluster and battery-operated evening? That seems a shame after we teased and taunted each other so mercilessly.”

Elle may be torn about what to do about her father and this trip to London, but she has no reservations about our fun. At least I have her there, for now.

Her lips purse, fighting the smirk. “I did tease you quite a bit, didn’t I? Perhaps I should drop another pen? Pick it up slowly with my ass in the air? Guess you finally noticed.”

She’s planting images in my head, erotic and seductive ones, with the scalpel-like precision of a surgeon. But she’s not the only one who’s been paying attention to what’s arousing.

“That would be a sight to behold. But I have another idea.”

I wait, letting the dramatic pause add flair to her anticipation. “Come here, Elle.”

She’s out of her chair in a second, coming around behind my desk where I’ve turned my chair. I spread my legs, manspreading, I’ve heard it called, and she steps between them as though she’s going to sit on my lap again.

“Na-ah-ah. On your knees.”

I see the hesitation, her mind whirring so loudly I can almost hear her thoughts. With narrowed eyes that communicate that she’s still not committed to this course of action, she follows the order, dropping to her knees.

“Good girl.” Her brow arches sardonically, warning me. I lean forward, getting in her space the way she’s in mine. “I want to be crystal clear. This has nothing to do with work or with London. This is just you and me, like before. Agreed?”

She seems relieved, her shoulders dropping from their scrunched position and the line of her lips relaxing. I can’t resist giving her a smacking kiss, my hand wrapped around the back of her neck. She calms even more.

“Okay. What did you have in mind, sir?”

There she is. My daring girl.

“A dare, of course. Helen will be here at three to coordinate her workload for the week, and you know she’s a stickler for punctuality. I thought we could make good use of the fifteen minutes until she arrives.”

“I’m guessing I already know what you’d consider a ‘good use of our time’ given our current positions?” She’s grinning, and I can see the hum of energy flowing through her as she wiggles like a happy puppy about to get a biscuit.

I smirk back. “Well, I did have some options I thought you might take under advisement.” Corporate babble has never sounded so weirdly sexy as it does right now. I even consider making a joke about mergers, but she jumps in before I get the chance.

“I dare you . . .” Her fingertip goes to my chest, pushing me back in my chair. “To take your dick out, right here in your office. I’m going to suck you off. I know that’s what you want, but I’m not going to make it that easy for you.”

I hoped she wouldn’t. My fingers are already deftly undoing the button of my pants, though I give a sly glance to the door. It’s closed but not locked.

“Fourteen minutes, Elle.”

I undo the zipper as well, shoving everything down and pulling my already hard cock out. Precum leaks from the crown, running a single clear rivulet down my shaft. Elle groans hungrily, and it’s taking all I have to not lift my hips toward her mouth.

“Want to hear the rest of it?” She bites her lip, knowing she’s driving me mad and loving every second of it.

Tick tock. The clock is moving too fast, and her mouth isn’t full of dick yet.

“I’m going to suck you down my throat, and you are not going to do a damn thing. Hands behind your head, hips still. You’re going to sit there and let me service you, sir.”

Another drop of precum oozes from my tip, and victory is already written on her face. “If you can make it until two fifty-eight without coming, I’ll be still and you can fuck my face and come down my throat. But either way, you’re done by three.”

I hiss, already on the edge. There’s no way I’ll make it, but the idea is sexy as fuck.

“Agreed?” Elle bats her eyelashes at me like she’s got all the time in the world.

“Yes, yes . . . please.” I know I’m begging like a weakling, but she’s driving me bonkers. My fingers are already interlaced behind my head, my neck craned to have to the best view.

But her fingers go to the waistband of her jeans, undoing the button and unzipping the zipper. “You didn’t think you were the only one going to get off, did you?”

Fuck it, I think. I could just lay her over my desk and slide into her heat right now. We’d both come in record time, I predict. But her brow arches haughtily, a silent reprimand, and I stay still like a fucking good boy.

As I watch closely, her hand disappears and begins moving inside her jeans. “Fuck, Elle.”

She smirks, an evil seductive temptress destroying me without even touching me. But finally, blessedly, she does. Her mouth kisses my crown, sucking the precum that’s pouring forth, and she moans in delight as my flavor coats her tongue.

She swallows me halfway on the next stroke, and a jolt shoots from my spine through my hips. Though I manage to stay still, I can’t stop my mouth. “That’s it, love. Take all of me. Suck my cock and rub that pretty pussy. Are you wet for me?”

In answer, she takes her hand out of her jeans and pushes her fingers into my mouth. I suck them clean, savoring her flavor. I whimper when she takes them away, shoving them back into her snug jeans.

She’s bobbing over me with haste now, messily and loudly sucking me down deep. Her eyes cut to the clock and she pulls off. “Two fifty-eight. Do it.”

Not needing to be told twice, I grab her head, guiding her as she takes me back into her mouth. I use my hands to hold her still, fucking her mouth as I watch her carefully. My cock disappears down to the root as she takes me deep into her throat.

“Fuckin’ hell, Elle. Make yourself come because I’m going to come down your throat.”

She cries out around me, falling over the edge, and her thighs quiver beneath her. The vibration of her pleasured sounds pulses in her throat, milking my orgasm from me. I hold her against me, buried as deep in her as I can get, and she swallows every drop.

The clock on the wall ticks over the hour. Perfect timing.

Elle wipes the corners of her lips daintily as if we’re at fucking tea with the queen, which makes me smile. Sexy minx and mannered lady, with a healthy dose of crazy daredevil added for spice. She’s so fucking perfect.

“Best get back to your desk. Helen will be here any second.” As she turns, buttoning her jeans, I swat at her ass.

Her head whips around. “Mr. Wolfe. That is inappropriate at the office. If that happens again, I’ll have to talk to HR.” Teasing heat shines in her eyes as she scolds me, and I can’t help but laugh.

I tuck myself away too, soft and spent. “Maybe we’ll both have to chat with HR. I was just sitting here, minding my own business and being still, when my assistant just gave me a jobby out of nowhere.”

“Shh,” she hisses. “It’s three o’clock, and you know who might hear you.”

As if her words conjured Helen, I hear papers rustling outside the door. A moment later, the knock is loud, as though Helen doesn’t want to interrupt anything. I wonder if she suspects something? But Elle and I have been discreet at the office, just silliness, mostly. The sexy teases have been behind closed doors.

I quickly double-check that both Elle and I are righted and at our respective desks and call out, “Come in.”

Helen comes in like a woman on a mission. “Good afternoon, Mr. Wolfe, Elle. Shall we get to debriefing on the week’s bullet points? I trust Elle has made the travel arrangements?”

“She’s finishing them up now, actually. Why don’t we step back to your office so she can focus on that and we can go over your week?” Helen nods and spins, immediately heading for her desk.

Our travel plans are already made, though there are several more items I’d like research on before we make the final proposal. “Elle, can you pull the most recent tax laws, please, including anything currently proposed and expected to pass? I know I looked at them before, but I want to really dig into the potential benefits and pitfalls there.”

I leave Elle to that assignment, hoping she’ll also spend some brain power deciding whether to accompany me, and go into the outer office, helping Helen with the handover of the duties she’ll be overseeing here. Thankfully, she’s already up to speed on most of them, having been my right-hand woman for so long. But we do a run-through of everything so that we’re on the same page, with aligned expectations.

“What if something hits the fan?” Helen asks. “Afternoon here is past bedtime for you in London, and if there’s no time—”

“Helen, you’re as keen as any executive here. So go with your gut and send me an email with your decision on any issues. I’ll back you. It’s not like I’m unreachable, either. I’m going to London, not the moon. I’ll call in daily to get updates, both from you and from Gary and Debra. I’m not abandoning you, but I do trust you in my stead.”

It’s simple and truthful, but Helen’s touched by my endorsement. From that moment on, we fly through the rest of our work, Helen trusting her instincts and brains more and more. By the time four thirty rolls around, I feel fully confident in her, and equally important, Helen feels confident in herself.

“Go home,” I tell Helen finally. “Have a good dinner, a nice bottle of wine, and relax. Because tomorrow’s going to be your debut on the big stage.”

“Sounds good . . . and thanks, Colton,” she says, grabbing her purse and disappearing. I give her a minute to get to the elevator before going back into my main office, where Elle’s gnawing at the tip of a pen, looking confused.

“Have you made your decision?” I ask without preamble, assuming what’s got her nose wrinkled so adorably. “We’re wheels up tomorrow, Elle.”

“I . . . I just don’t know,” Elle says, tossing her pen on her desk. “Colton, I need you to understand something, to truly get what it is you’re asking of me. It’s been Dad and me for so long. Mom left us, walked out and said fuck you to the two of us, and we were destroyed for a while. Ever since, he’s done everything he can for me. He doesn’t want me to get hurt or let me out of his sight. He doesn’t want to lose all he has left.”

I grit my teeth, both understanding and not. I don’t have family like this. As I told Elle, I’m the black sheep of my family, so this parental protective streak feels foreign to me. But I can see that it’s coming from a place of love. Truth is, I don’t hate Daniel. In almost any other situation, I’d consider him a mate and be happy to share a pint with him down at the pub. It’s just that he’s between me and my dream, and now, between Elle and what I think her dream is.

There’s a time for every baby bird to leave the nest.

“A caged bird stands on the grave of dreams.” I’m sad for her, angry for her. I can see her wings being clipped before my very eyes.

“What?”

“It’s from a Maya Angelou poem I read as a boy. Your dad loves you and has created a beautiful life for you, but no matter how golden, it is still a cage. I won’t begrudge you if you’d rather live comfortably there. I can even understand the appeal. But I’m standing here with the key to your future, the cage door open, and yet, you’re too afraid to fly.”

She flinches, the smallest tightening of her jaw, when I say she’s afraid. Daring girl doesn’t much care for that.

“But what if I’m already flying? Have you ever seen a hummingbird eating? They look like they’re floating in midair. Like magic. But they’re working their asses off, flapping their wings like mad. We just can’t see it. Maybe I’m flying and you don’t want to see it.”

“Perhaps.” I don’t want to admit that she’s right, but she may have a point.

“You say I’m caged, but what you’re offering isn’t freedom. It’s just a different cage. One of your making instead of Dad’s.”

I swallow thickly, unprepared for the depth this whole situation has taken. I meant for this to be fun, an adventure for us both. Yes, with the boon of pissing off Daniel and increasing my odds of realizing my own dreams.

But somewhere along the way, it became about the battle for Elle’s dreams and her heart.

Whether she gives that to me or not, I truly want her to recognize the power she wields in making her own dreams come true.

“Come on,” I tell her, reaching over and taking her hand. “I have an idea, a dare.”