"I really can't — I shouldn't just show up to someone's birthday after years of—"
"Stop." Maya's arm was already out the window, phone extended. "Number. Now."
Sloane took the phone. Typed. Handed it back. That was apparently that.
"Tonight. I'll text you." Maya's grin was wide and bright and slightly dangerous. "You're back in Chicago. You need this, trust me."
The window rolled up. The BMW pulled into traffic. Gone.
Sloane stood on the sidewalk, staring at nothing, already regretting every single one of her life choices.
The Velvet Room was exactly the kind of place that cost forty dollars for sparkling water and charged you for the air. Dark velvet walls. Amber lighting that made everyone look gorgeous and slightly guilty. Music that pulsed through the floor and into your bloodst
