Page 1

Prologue

The bathroom in Jessica’s cramped West Hollywood apartment was a humid, peach-tiled relic of the early ’90s that she had not bothered to update.

Tonight, the tiny space was choked with steam and the mingled scents of strawberry shampoo and the floral notes of the expensive perfume she used when she was about to make another reckless decision.

Jessica had never shaved her legs with such desperate, stomach-twisting hope. That alone should have warned her.

She stood with one foot propped on the tub edge, razor gliding carefully over her calf while scalding water pounded down her skin. She rinsed the razor, heart hammering, and tried not to think about how badly she wanted tonight to finally be different.

The last guy she went out with was Gary Nelson. All he’d left her with was mediocre sex, a half-hearted “I’ll call you,” and a permanent hatred for any man who drowned himself in Drakkar Noir.

But tonight felt different.

This new guy felt different.

Their first date had taken place at an exclusive Italian restaurant in Beverly Hills. He selected a Barolo without any showboating, pulled out her chair like a gentleman, and asked questions as if he genuinely cared about her opinions.

At six-foot-four, with broad shoulders straining the fabric of his tailored suit, he possessed a clean-shaven jaw sharp enough to cut glass, piercing gray eyes, and a smile that made her forget her own name. His neat dark hair was impeccably styled, and an expensive watch adorned his wrist. A finance professional from a good family, he was polished to perfection.

Women invented flaws for men like him. There had to be something wrong.

Jessica had spent four days digging. She found nothing.

She rinsed the razor, switched legs. She had washed her hair twice, exfoliated until her skin felt raw, and shaved everywhere that might matter. She told herself it was just about feeling put together.

Bullshit.

She was shaving because she was almost certain she was going to fuck him tonight.

She could admit it to herself but not out loud. Marcy would hear through the thin walls and never let her live it down.

Marcy shouted from the living room: “You still alive in there, or still shaving your bush for Mr. Wall Street?”

Jessica got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself. As she exited the bathroom she shouted, “Shut up.”

She padded across the cool hardwood floor toward her walk-in closet.

Inside the soft overhead lighting illuminated rows of hanging garments. Jessica stood in front of them, towel wrapped tightly around her chest, and ran her hands across the dresses.

The red backless dress hung on the left, its silk shimmering brightly. It was bold and dramatic, the kind of dress that demanded attention. Next to it was the black dress, the one with the deep plunge in the front that left little to the imagination. Both were tempting. But her gaze kept drifting to the green dress on the right, the emerald satin one that plunged daringly between her breasts and hugged her curves before falling in a sleek line to mid-thigh.

She pulled it off the hanger and held it up. The color was rich and vibrant, almost the exact shade of her eyes. She smiled faintly at her reflection in the full-length mirror.

The green would make her red hair glow like fire and make her emerald eyes pop even more dramatically. It was perfect for tonight.

She decided on the green and slipped the dress on, the cool fabric gliding over her still-damp skin and settling against her body. She smoothed it down with both hands, turning once to check the back, then reached for her heels.

Jessica took one last look in the mirror, satisfied with the result.

Jessica walked out to the living room to see Marcy cross-legged on the couch in pajamas, eating Lucky Charms straight from the box. She looked Jessica up and down and stopped mid-chew.

“Oh, honey. You’re not coming home tonight.”

Jessica grabbed her clutch. “I might.”

“You’re wearing the green hooker dress.”

“It’s just dinner.”