Chapter 2: Lumière

The Cayenne purred down out of the hills, and for the first time in months, Harper let the windows down.

Warm night air whipped through her hair. The city spread out below her like spilled jewelry, gold and white and glittering, all the way to the horizon. She turned the music up until the bass hummed in her ribs. She hadn't driven anywhere that wasn't the grocery store, the dry cleaner, or the pharmacy in so long that her hands felt strange on the wheel. Like they remembered something her mind had put away.

By the time she pulled into Beverly Hills, she was almost smiling.

Lumière sat on a quiet, tree-lined street, the kind of place with no sign out front because it didn't need one. Three Michelin stars. A waiting list people whispered about. A valet in a crisp black vest opened her door, and Harper stepped out, one long leg first, the slit of her dress parting like a curtain.

The valet forgot how to blink.

Inside, the restaurant took her breath away. A crystal chandelier the size of a small car dripped light over the dining room, throwing soft gold across white linen and silver. The walls were lined with antique mirrors and hand-painted silk. A pianist played something slow and French in the corner, and the air smelled like butter, truffle, and old money. Waiters glided between tables like they were on rails. Somewhere, a sommelier was uncorking a bottle that cost more than her mother's house.

She used to come to places like this on Myles's arm. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to walk into one on her own.

Then she felt it. The looks.

A man at the bar set his drink down mid-sip. A woman in pearls leaned over to whisper to her husband and was ignored. Heads turned one by one as Harper followed the maître d' across the floor, her heels clicking, her hips swaying, that black dress hugging every curve like it was made for her. Long legs. Stunning face. Red lips. A shoulder with a faint scar that she didn't bother to hide.

Harper lifted her chin and straightened her back, just as she used to do before a dive.

I've still got it, she thought, surprised by her own confidence.

It was such a small thought, but it hit her like a gust of wind. For three years she'd been a woman nobody looked at. Tonight, the whole room was looking.

The maître d' led her down a hallway lined with velvet curtains, then pushed open the door to a small private room. Candlelight, a round table, a half-empty bottle of champagne.

And Valentina Rossi, with a man in her lap, her mouth on his.

Harper stopped in the doorway. "Well," she said dryly. "At least you're consistent."

Valentina was the only friend Harper had left in LA, and the only one who had ever truly counted.

They'd been roommates at the University of Texas, a small-town Oklahoma girl with a diving scholarship and the daughter of a Dallas oil tycoon with a trust fund big enough to have its own zip code. They shouldn't have worked. But Valentina had taken one look at Harper's secondhand bedspread and said, "Honey, we're going to be best friends, and I'm taking you shopping." And that was that. She'd been Harper's loudest fan in every stadium, screaming her name from the stands.

Valentina was a social butterfly with a predator's grace. Passionate, bold, and dominant, she walked into a room like she owned the deed. Her father, worn out trying to control her, had finally given up and left her a fortune and her freedom. She'd used both. She collected handsome men the way other people collected art, always a slew of them competing for her attention, and she never let any of them tie her down.

Until Harper told her she was leaving Austin for Los Angeles with Myles.

Valentina had been furious. She'd hated Myles from the first day. A down-low scumbag, she called him, and she never took it back. But when Harper left, Valentina followed, because LA was full of models and actors who needed someone to look after them. Maybe she'd inherited her father's business sense after all, because those pretty faces had turned into a roster, and the roster had turned into a powerhouse talent agency. Now Valentina Rossi was a CEO, and half of Hollywood returned her calls.

So a ruggedly handsome Mediterranean man in her lap? No surprise at all.

He had olive skin, dark curls, a jaw like carved stone, and shoulders that strained against his shirt. Valentina's hair fell like ink down her back, her features sharp and beautiful. She wore a tailored blazer over a deep-V bodysuit that showed an eye-popping amount of cleavage, with a tight black pencil skirt, black stockings, and pumps.

She broke the kiss and looked up. Her eyes went wide, then slowly, hungrily, traveled from Harper's head to her heels.

"Oh my God." She shoved the man off her lap like a coat. He stumbled and caught himself on the table. "That is Harper Moss. Look at you. You look so sexy. If I were a man, I would bend you over this table and fuck you till dawn."

"Val!"

Valentina circled her, running her fingers down Harper's leg, slow and shameless. "Look at these legs. And this ass? Oh my God. Why are you wasting your time cooking and doing laundry for that limp-dick excuse for a man? How can he see this every day and not want to fuck your brains out?" She tipped her head toward the man, who was dusting off his pants. "Do you want Antonio? He's a certified knockout in bed. I can vouch for him personally."

Harper laughed, really laughed, for the first time in weeks, and shook her head.

"Shame." Valentina sighed. "Antonio, baby, head back to my apartment and get ready for me."

Antonio blushed, then grinned. "Yes, miss."

He left. Harper dropped into a velvet chair. "Okay. What's so urgent?"

"Sit. Are you hungry? I had them make something more your speed."

A waiter swept in right on cue and set down a sizzling dish of garlic shrimp. Harper picked one up, tasted it, and closed her eyes. It was bold and buttery and hot, nothing like the quinoa and halibut she'd been choking down for three years.

"You love me the most," she said.

"I know." Valentina refilled her glass. "Eat."

"So why did you really call me here?"

"Just wait a bit. I'm waiting on a message from a friend."

They talked. Valentina asked about her, really asked, and Harper realized how long it had been since anyone had. Then Valentina's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, and something flickered across her face. She stood and lifted a hand, and the waiter appeared again.

"Come on."