She worked through lunch and the mid-dinner rush and was clocking out when Georgia arrived. I planned to pull a double to fill in for my jackass brother. Plus, I need the cash. The money is decent here, but it’s nothing like what I made before.

It’s not like I don’t have any money. Call it foul, but my mother created a bank account to transfer my funds so I didn’t lose everything.

“I have nothing better to do,” Cassidy replies.

“That makes two of us.”

Her phone chimes, and she rummages through her bag, searching for it. My eyes are on her when she reads whatever is on the screen. She stills, her face paling, and seconds later, as if someone snapped her out of a haze, she frantically shoves the rest of her shit into her bag. In the process, she drops her phone. When she ducks down to retrieve it, the bar conceals her.

“Everything okay?” I ask, standing on my tiptoes in an attempt to see her over the bar.

“Yep.” She comes back into view, blowing strands of hair from her face. “Georgia’s shift doesn’t start for, what, another ten minutes? I need to run home really quick, and then I’ll be right back.”

“Cassidy.” I circle the bar, my brow wrinkling.

“Gotta go.” She rushes out the door.

My throat constricts as my intuition tells me something’s wrong.

Chapter Six

Cassidy

Rule number one in relationships: don’t date the biggest drug dealer on campus.

In my defense, it’s not like I knew Quinton was one when we started dating. We met at a frat party and immediately clicked. He became the perfect boyfriend—polite, never made me question his character, and decent in bed. His Mercedes, his wining and dining, and the gifts were never a red flag because he came from money. His family owns Landing Holdings, a large commercial real estate and investment firm.

Turned out, all that wining and dining wasn’t on his parents’ dime. It was funded from profits from selling drugs. When his car was in the shop, he borrowed mine while I was in class. Too bad I didn’t know borrow was code for drug runs. We got pulled over on the drive to dinner—me in the driver’s seat. The cop claimed there’d been a familiar make and model in a drug hot spot.

Knowing I had nothing to hide, I wasn’t worried when they demanded to search my car.

Key word: I. I had nothing to hide.

Turned out, my boyfriend did.

And asshole had hidden it in my trunk.

I should’ve known something was wrong when Quinton told me not to pull over and make a run for it, like I’d graduated from sorority girl to Grand Theft Auto pro. I stupidly thought he was joking, and he cursed under his breath when I followed the law.