“You are not wearing that.”
Maya’s voice was sharp as she stood with her arms crossed, surveying me like I was a badly-lit movie poster.
“What’s wrong with this?” I gestured down at the sleek black jumpsuit I’d painstakingly ironed.
Angela popped her head around the bathroom door, mouth full of lip gloss. “It says courtroom, not candlelight. You’re having dinner with Roman freaking Wolfe, not going to HR.”
Ken leaned over the back of the couch, sipping a soda. “You look hot, but not billionaire hot.”
“I don’t know what billionaire hot means!” I groaned, flopping onto the bed. “Why did I say yes?”
“Because you’re horny and he’s loaded,” Maya said bluntly. “We don’t judge. We prep.”
She pulled open my wardrobe with the aggression of a woman on a mission. Clothes flew. Shoes landed lik
