A laugh slips out of me.
She still has blue hair. She looks like a drunk Smurf. "Jesus," she mumbles. "Are we alive?"
"Debatable," I say.
I stumble into the bathroom. No time for hot water, so I shut up and deal with it. Cold shower it is.
I'm gonna wash myself like a man.
…
I survive. Somehow.
I get out, brush my teeth, then I sprint back into my room to get dressed. I grab a white shirt and start buttoning it up way too fast.
Daisy sits up, hair an absolute war zone. "You look like shit."
"Thank you. So do you."
"I know," she grins. Then she staggers over to the window, still in yesterday's clothes.
"Do you think they'd cancel the meeting if you collapsed dramatically in front of the venue?"
I laugh while I'm cleaning the lenses of my glasses.
"They wouldn't cancel it," I say. "They'd step over my dead body to get to the room, and maybe even kick me out of the way so I don't block the door."
"My poor baby," Daisy says.
Yeah. Your poor baby is corporate roadkill.
I hear her voice shift. "Holy shit."
I turn. She's glued to the window, palm flat right on the glass, like we're in a drama series.
"Oh my God," she says. "Who. Is. That."
"What?"
She turns to me, pointing to Gio's house.
"There. That guy. Dark hair. Shirtless. Literally carved from stone. Like, Greek statue energy. Who the hell is that?"
I step closer to look.
Oh. Of course. Obviously that Lorenzo guy is still here.
He's in Gio's room, shirtless, talking passionately.
Talking.
It hits me like a slap.
Oh my God.
What if they're talking about last night?
Lord, I want to pull my hair out, strand by strand.
