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I’m standing in a clothing boutique that’s so upscale, I feel like I’ve wandered into another movie. My hair is still a little wet from the shower I took in the women’s locker room outside the training area, and I’m in shorts and a T-shirt.

Or I was . Now I’m in a dress that barely covers my butt. It’s the fourth one I’ve tried on, but the attendant keeps bringing me more.

Outside the changing room, Noah sits on an upholstered bench like a young CEO.

“Are you sure about this one?” I ask the attendant.

“You look stunning,” she assures me.

“All right…”

But when I walk out wearing sky-high heels and the tiniest black cocktail dress in the store, Noah nearly swallows his tongue.

I resist the urge to tug at the hem, noting that I’ll probably need a bikini wax if I wear this one tonight.

“Are we sure this is necessary?” I ask him.

Noah opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. His eyes are on my legs, and he can’t seem to look away. The man has been struck mute, and I won’t lie—it’s flattering.

I snap in front of his face. “Hey, focus.”

A smile dances over his face, quickly becoming a full-blown smirk. He meets my eyes, trying and failing to look innocent. “I like that one.”

“If I sneeze, it will become a tank top.”

The attendant snorts out a laugh and then clears her throat, trying to cover it up.

“Maybe something a little longer,” Noah suggests, rubbing his hand over his grinning mouth.

I walk back into the dressing room, keeping my legs pressed together so I don’t flash anyone while making my escape.

Several minutes later, I emerge in a white sundress.

It’s strappy, with bands of fabric that crisscross over my back, and the skirt is just short enough that I think it could be described as flirty.

I can even sit down in it without running the risk of getting a fine for public indecency.

I mean, sure, it’s low-cut enough I won’t be able to bend over without risking a wardrobe malfunction, but as long as we’re not playing mini golf on the yacht, I think I’ll be safe.

“I like this one,” I declare. “And look—it has pockets.”

I demonstrate, grinning.

“Just what every cocktail dress needs,” Noah says, returning my smile.

“Do you like it?”

“You look beautiful.”

I turn to the attendant. “I’d like this one.”

“Along with the shoes and accessories,” Noah adds.

“Of course,” the woman responds, quietly elated. “Change back into your clothes, and I’ll package everything up for you and meet you at the register. Can I get you anything to drink while you wait? Espresso? Champagne?”

Noah looks at me, but I shake my head, terrified I’ll spill something on the rug. It looks expensive, just like everything else in the shop.

“That will be three thousand two hundred forty-eight dollars and twenty-seven cents,” the attendant says once we’ve all converged at the register.

It’s a good thing I didn’t take her up on the espresso because I’m pretty sure I would spit it all over her.

But Noah doesn’t even blink. He just hands her his card.

I clutch his arm, subtly turning away from the woman as I hiss, “You can’t spend that much on a dress!”

“Why not?” His face is serious, but his eyes are smiling.

“Because I can buy the same thing for a hundred bucks at a mall. Twenty if we found the right thrift store.”

“Piper.”

“You can’t just say my name like this is all reasonable. Do you know what you can do with three thousand dollars?”

“Yes, I can buy my girlfriend a dress.”

I start to sweat (probably perfuming the shop with the essence of coconut) and pull at the neck of my T-shirt.

“You didn’t even splurge on first-class plane tickets,” I point out.

“That’s because we were only on the plane for four hours.”

“I doubt I’m going to wear this dress much longer.”

“It’s fine,” Noah assures me with a chuckle, looking at me like I’m overreacting. “Just consider it a job-related expense.”

“Dressing me up is part of your job?”

“Tonight? Yes.”

“My truck didn’t even cost this much.”

“Have you seen your truck?”

He laughs when I jab him in the side.

Politely, the saleswoman ignores our conversation, though she sends me a dark look while running the card, probably worried I’m going to convince Noah to abandon the sale.

But now that the transaction is complete, she gives us a broad smile and offers me a shiny black bag—the fussy, cardstock type with ribbons for handles.

“Thank you for your purchase,” she purrs.

“Please think of us next time you have a special occasion.”

She’s obviously on commission. Noah probably just bought her son a new gaming console.

We leave the store and step into the Florida sunshine.

“Just how much do you make now?” I demand, clutching the bag with a death grip, terrified someone is going to swipe it. If we run into a pickpocket, hopefully he’ll take my purse. There’s not anything of value in there.

“The raise was substantial,” he says.

“Like yearly-vacation-in-Palm-Beach substantial? Or let’s-buy-a-summer-home-in-Palm-Beach substantial?”

Noah smiles to himself. “I’m sure that will depend on if we make wise investments.”

I blanch a little, feeling ill, and it has nothing to do with the sun. “I don’t think we can date anymore. I don’t want to be a gold digger.”

Noah laughs, shaking his head. “You liked me before I got the promotion.”

“If we get married, will I even have to work?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

I shake my head violently. “Nope, I can’t do it. My work ethic will go right out the window. I’ll just lie around all day in our spacious Colorado chateau, eating chocolate truffles while our trio of maids does all the housework.”

“You can’t eat chocolate truffles,” Noah points out. “I think you’re safe.”

“You’re ruining the image.”

“Piper, I know exactly what you’ll do with money—you’ll buy name-brand hairspray and then stress about it for four weeks while clipping coupons.”

“You don’t have to clip coupons anymore—they’ve all gone digital.”

He sets his hands on my shoulders and leans down to meet my eyes. The move is so adorably Noah, I can’t help but smile.

“Just wear the dress, all right?” he says. “We’ll worry about vacation homes, chocolate truffles, and staff later.”

“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 nearly two 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, super broken.”

“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— what are 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.

It’s kind of fun.

It’s kind of scary, too. I’m not used to this many people paying attention to me.

Thanks to traffic, we’re a few minutes late when we arrive at Alfred’s yacht club. (Yeah, they’re a thing. And yes, they’re as snooty as they sound.)

The sun has just set, and you couldn’t ask for a prettier evening. The horizon is peach, and the clouds are periwinkle. Dark palm trees sway gracefully in the warm breeze, silhouetted against the dusky lavender ocean.

We make our way to the marina, looking for the slip number. There are boats of different sizes, but they’re all impressive. Many are decked out in tasteful string lights. Others glow in artificial shades of neon.

I grow nervous the closer we approach the end of the marina.

“That’s it,” Noah says, gesturing me forward.

Alfred’s yacht is the second to last one in this row. It’s with the other large yachts. His, too, has special lighting, but it’s been installed on the outside of the boat, making the perimeter and water glow like a brilliant blue light stick.

The good news is that we’ll be able to watch it sail away after he dumps us into the shark-infested waters.

“Cassian is here, right?” I ask Noah when we pause outside the plank that leads into the boat.

“He texted about five minutes ago to let me know he was aboard.”

“Montgomery, Flower Girl.” Alfred appears on the gangway with a martini in his hand, wearing a ridiculous captain’s hat. “Welcome to my yacht.”

Cassian appears behind him, looking less than impressed. My conservator’s presence eases some of my worries, so I allow Noah to direct me up first.

“I can’t keep calling you Flower Girl,” Alfred says when my feet are firmly planted on the deck. “What’s your name?”

There’s something different about him tonight. His manner is friendlier, his body language looser.

He might be a bit tipsy.

“Piper,” I answer.

“Adorable.” He salutes me with his martini. “While aboard my vessel, you may call me Captain.”

My eyes stray up. “Just like it says on your hat.”

“That’s right.” He gives me a lopsided smirk that’s probably supposed to be charming and then shifts in slightly closer. “If you like it, I’ll let you try it on later.”

Gag.

I somehow manage a smile and shift to the side, allowing Noah to step onto the deck.

In one long swig, Alfred finishes the martini. “Now that you’re all here, I’ll show you around. But first, let me get you something to drink.”

Our vampire host swivels his head like he’s looking for someone. When he spots him, he lifts his hand in the air, snapping several times. “Richard.”

To my surprise, the man who approaches is familiar. Sophia’s tech-ed-teacher-turned-butler wears a tux and carries an empty tray. Alfred plunks the martini glass upon it with so much gusto, the cocktail stick of uneaten green olives swirls around the rim of the glass.

“Why bother with the olives when you can’t eat them?” I ask him.

“Oh, Piper. Darling. A martini isn’t a martini without an olive, is it?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

He gives me a soft pout. “That’s right. You’re a wholesome thing, aren’t you? Ethan liked that about you.” He leans close, nudging his shoulder against mine. “I like it, too.”

Noah steps between us, blocking Alfred from getting close again. “The tour?”

“Right. But first, tell Richard what you’d like to drink.”

I give the butler a tentative smile, wondering how he’ll react. “I’ll have a bottled water.”

“Same for me,” Noah says.

Cassian holds up his hand. “Make that three.”

Alfred gives us a knowing look. “How do you tell your host you don’t trust him without telling him you don’t trust him?” He cackles, annoyingly jolly this evening. “Richard, please get them three unopened, not-spiked bottles of water.”

“Yes, sir,” Richard says dourly.

As he turns, his eyes catch on mine. He looks better than he did the last time I saw him. Dare I say…younger even.

As soon as he’s gone, I whisper to Noah, “Do you recognize him?”

“I do.”

We follow Alfred, listening as he brags about his yacht. Taking advantage of Cassian asking our host about something called anti-fouling paint, I say quietly to Noah, “I don’t think Sophia listened to you. He’s looking pretty vampirey to me.”

“I noticed that as well. The question is, what is Alfred doing with Sophia’s hired help?”

“Do you think Alfred knows we’ve met him before?”

“I doubt it.”

“Could Richard have something to do with Sophia’s disappearance? Did he double-cross her?”

“Or is Sophia in on all this?” Noah muses.

“If she is, it’s awfully careless of her to leave her butler hanging around while we’re going to be visiting.”

“Your drinks,” a man says from right behind us.

I whirl around, the picture of nervous guilt. Three expensive bottles of water and one martini are perched atop Richard’s tray, condensation glistening in the deck lighting.