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“Atlas made a reservation at Craig’s for tomorrow evening.”

Her eyes round. “Craig’s? But we can’t… I mean, I can’t…” She sputters and then seems to catch herself. She lifts her chin a tiny bit. “Is that a good idea?”

“Why not? It’s a trendy Los Angeles restaurant where affluent people go for good food and a nice atmosphere. Is that not us?”

She seems to be taking it in. Mulling it over. As if this is some kind of monumental decision. And I have to let her sort it out.

“Madeline says it’s her favorite,” I add in a cajoling voice.

She still doesn’t react.

“Babe?” Now I’m getting a little worried.

“What am I going to wear?” she finally asks. “I didn’t bring anything for…going out to dinner.”

“Then I guess we should go shopping. In the morning.”

She doesn’t say anything but comes over and wraps her arm around my middle. And in the quietest voice whispers, “Thank you.”

We pull up to Craig’s in my SUV. Ty is driving and will be on duty tonight since I don’t trust Dylan not to try something. I can handle myself, and so can Atlas, but I can’t handle a situation discreetly while simultaneously making sure Willow and Madeline are also safe, so this is an easier solution.

For some reason, Willow seems taken with Ty—in a sweet, platonic way, I’m in no way jealous—and him with her. He came back from Afghanistan with a slew of ghosts and she battles her own, and they seem to have found a connection. God knows, she needs friends, so I’m happy to indulge her in this. Well, in anything, really.

If she’s happy, I’m happy.

Once we’re seated and wine has been poured, Atlas wastes no time in getting us up to speed.

“Unfortunately,” he says with a scowl, “your bank account is currently empty.”

“Empty?” She blinks. “What are you talking about? How can it be…empty?”

“That bottom feeder obviously transferred everything to his personal accounts.”

Willow pulls in a shaky breath and it’s obvious she’s on the verge of tears, but before I can do something, she juts out her jaw. “How do we get it back?” she demands in a quiet but steely voice.

Atlas almost smiles—it happens rarely. Usually only for Frankie. Or if he fucks over someone who’s tried to fuck him over. He’s terrifying if you don’t know him as well as I do.

“Well, let’s get the bad news out of the way first,” Madeline says, her tone easygoing but careful.

“There’s more bad news beyond me being completely broke?” Willow sighs.

“Dylan has gotten a restraining order against you.”

“Against me?” Willow gapes at her.

“Basically he’s trying to make sure you can’t get any more of your things by showing up at the house when he’s not there. And I believe he’s attending some film festival next week, so this is his way of making sure you can’t take anything else.”

Atlas makes a strangled sound—like he wants to hurt someone—and I’m right there with him, but I try to mask my anger for Willow’s sake.

“Fuck him,” she mutters.

“Exactly.” Madeline pulls some papers out of her bag. “So. We’ve officially retained Kate Martensson, the crisis control manager, and she’s got a few things in the works. First, Alexa Humboldt is holding a ladies’ only tea on Sunday, giving attendees first dibs at her new line. It’s one hundred women, including some of her wealthiest and most trusted clients. Kate got you on the list.”

“But you just told me I’m broke?” Willow looks at me and holds up a finger before I can talk. “Don’t you dare say you’ll pay for it!”

I hold up my hands in surrender. “No, dear. Absolutely not. I would never.”

She makes a face. “Hudson…”