ALVARA

i

― ALVARA

"IT'S FRIDAY," REMI declares, brandishing two dresses.

"I'm glad you've finally learned the days of the week, Rem," I say without looking up from my book, even though I know where this is going.

My ideal day-off is curling up on my couch with a cat in my lap while reading a comfort book for the hundredth time. My best friend's way of celebrating the start of the weekend, however, is getting batshit drunk. And it usually involves dragging me along, because she insists I'm missing out.

"Isn't eating a lot of free food and drinking alcohol a great way to celebrate Friday?" Remi asks, glaring at me threateningly. She puts an emphasis on 'free'.

"Free food?" I repeat, resolve weakening. Remi pounces on the opportunity.

"Yep. And it's gonna be classy and sophisticated and all that, so you won't need to bring your sexy handcuffs and guns. Did I mention there's gonna be seafood?" Remi says the word 'seafood' like a parent would say 'ice cream' to their kid. Which, in my opinion, is better.

I cave. "Okay, fine. What time is it?"

Remi smiles winningly. She plucks the book from my grasp and chucks it on the floor. "It's in one hour. I'll let you borrow something if you do my makeup."

"Yeah yeah." I'm too busy checking to see if she damaged my weathered copy of The Alchemist. She dives into her closet and five minutes later, she has our outfits ready.

Remi hands me a fitted black dress and matching lace gloves. I'm not sure how it's going to fit with her short and curvy figure while I'm tall and lacking hips and chest, but it does. I have a sneaking suspicion she bought it just for me, but don't say anything. She loves spoiling me but hates being confronted with it.

"Gloves?!" I ask incredulously, dread pooling in my stomach as she slips pearls around my neck and in my ears. Satin gloves are, in my opinion, the most frivolous thing one can buy. But Remington thinks they look great and there's no use ever arguing with her.

"Uh huh," Remi says. She slips into a cherry-red silk dress and lathers on matching lipstick. She blots her lips and raises an eyebrow at me.

"Want some?"

I accept and carefully apply the lipstick that's probably worth a third of my monthly salary.

"Can you do my eyes?"

"Tilt your head," I order. I know little about makeup, but my steady hand makes up for it. I finish her cat-eye and apply some eyeshadow, though she barely needs it. Remington Martinez has her father's bristly lashes and her mother's high cheekbones.

I force myself to relax. I do terrible in social settings. I always end up saying the wrong thing.

Think happy thoughts, I scold myself, but it's hard to relax when there's a huge pile of paperwork on my desk. Drug-trafficking has been on the rise and even though I'm not in charge of that kind of thing, it still worries me. Not to mention the reports of missing people. Important people.

Remi seems to reads my thoughts and smooths out the creases between my brows with a tap of her manicured finger. "I know you care about the people, Ally, but you need to relax. A night isn't going to change anything, is it? Just try and have fun," she says soothingly.

"Right. Relax. Fun," I repeat, ignoring the cold sweat in my palms.

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REMI WAS RIGHT; the place is very... extravagant. A massive crystal chandelier glitters in the center of the gathering hall. Remi beams at several important-looking men in striking tuxes. As the daughter of a CEO, she doesn't even need an ID to enter. Everyone knows her. She ushers me into a transparent elevator, and we soar up the building. I hold on tightly to the railings. I've inspected corpses in gruesome crime scenes and conducted interviews with convicted child rapists, but heights are a fear I have yet to conquer.