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“And beautiful,” Lily says, reaching for my hand and squeezing it. “And really, really strong.”

The backs of my eyes burn, and I inhale shakily. “Lily… You don’t have to say?—”

“Anything I don’t mean?” Her fingers wrap tightly around mine. “I do. Because I mean it. I’ve wanted to meet you for ages, even more so since Jade mentioned how wonderful you are.”

My lungs spasm again.

How are these women so nice?

Women aren’t nice. Or at least the women I know in Hollywood aren’t nice. If they can’t get something from me—a story to share with the tabloids, a shopping trip for me to pay for, a dinner for them to be seen at—then they don’t want to spend time with me.

I’m just a vessel to be used.

But not by these women.

They’ve already done so much for me and they don’t really know me.

“Why are you guys so awesome?”

“Ah,” Briar bumps my shoulder again and she’s grinning, her tone deliberately light. Something I’m thankful for when she says, “We’ve got you fooled. Sooner or later, the shine will wear off.”

Aspen gasps. “Rude.”

Lily scowls. “Seriously. Rude.”

Even Jade glowers. “No more backstage passes for you.”

We all fall silent for a beat.

Then we start laughing.

And it’s…perfect. So perfect I feel my eyes welling up again. I wave a hand in front of my face and deliberately blink them back.

Something Hudson notices—because of course he does—and he takes a step toward me, concern written into the lines of his face.

I slap on a smile, wave him away. “I’m good,” I mouth.

But that doesn’t make the concern disappear.

He starts striding over.

Briar, as intuitive as her brother, steps to my side and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Shoo!” she calls. “Your girlfriend”—she draws the word out with all sorts of sisterly teasing—“is fine. I promise.”

His eyes come to mine.

“I am fine.” This time my smile is real. “It’s a girl thing.”

“We pinky promise,” Aspen says.

“No boys allowed!” Lily calls.

Hudson holds my stare for a long moment. Then half of his mouth turns up and he nods, turning back to the huddle of men on the far side of the room.

“Speaking of boys,” Lily says. “Or, I guess, I should say, speaking of men”—she jerks her chin toward Atlas, wearing a form-fitting pair of trousers and a crisp white button down with the sleeves rolled up to reveal a set of strong, tanned forearms—“will someone clue me in to who that tall drink of hot broody male is?”

I can’t deny that Atlas is hot, especially having shucked his jacket and tie.

The man can pull off a suit.