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“And expensive hairspray.”

“That too.”

“Fine, but if I spill caviar on the dress, just remember, I tried to turn it down.”

“Noted.”

“What time is it?” I would look at my phone, but I can’t risk loosening my grip on the bag.

“Ten after five. Let’s head back to the hotel.”

It takes nearlytwo hours for us to get ready for the evening, mostly because Noah and I have to share a bathroom. I’m almost finished, except for my hair, which is being stubborn.

“Now, just twist it and pin it in place,” Olivia says from the screen of my phone, watching me with a frown. “No, not like that. Do you need to watch the video again?”

“It’s a lot harder than it looks,” I tell her, growing frustrated. “I wish you were here.”

“Same. Though if I joined your yacht party, I wouldn’t be a guest—I’d be a snack.”

“You’re always a snack, Livi,” I tease her.

“Aw, thanks.” She giggles and darts away from the screen, talking to someone I can’t see. Though she drops her voice low enough I can’t hear her, I can detect her tone, and it’s flirtatious as heck.

“Who’s there with you?” I demand.

“Huh?” She pops back onto the screen, patting her hair back into place. “It’s just Max. He’s still working on the car. It’s like,superbroken.”

“Right…”

She clears her throat, looking both giddy and guilty. “So, speaking of taboo things, has Noah let you bite him yet?”

“First off, no one was talking about anything taboo—whatare you and Max doing? And second, Noah is in the other room, so we’re not going to discuss that.”

I haven’t told her about my second encounter with Ethan, and I feel a little bad about it. But there’s no reason to worry her when she’s all the way across the country, living out a friends-to-lovers scenario.

“Fine,” she says with a sigh. “Did you get the chignon this time? Let me see the back of your head.”

It takes me another ten minutes, but I finally get the thumbs up from Olivia.

“Try not to have too much fun at your yacht party,” she says. “I’m going to heat up a pizza in the microwave and pretend it's bruschetta.”

Laughing, I end the call and walk into the main room. Noah stands on the balcony, dressed in tan chinos and a navy button-up, short-sleeved shirt. His brown belt even matches his shoes.

“Whoa,” I say. “Did you borrow clothes from Cassian?”

“We aren’t women and therefore don’t share clothes.” Noah turns, his eyes sweeping over me appreciatively, and then his expression becomes smug. “And we couldn’t even if we wanted to—my shoulders are broader than Cassian’s.”

Are they ever.

I turn my back to him, looking over my shoulder, and give him a come-hither look. Dropping my voice to an intentional purr, I say, “I need you to help me with something.”

Noah crosses the room. Taking advantage of my bare neck, he kisses me just under my hairline. “That usually comes after the party.”

Delighted, I say, “Actually, will you put the sedative-laced pins into my hair? I’m afraid I’m going to stab myself.”

“A valid concern.” He fetches the box from the table and slides the hair pins into my chignon.

Ten minutes later, armed and looking rather fabulous, we leave the hotel. People watch us as we walk through the lobby, probably wondering where we’re headed.