“Piss off. I wear what I want,” I said, my mood already soured. I took off for the elevator.

I wasn’t too surprised to see him hurrying for the elevator before the door closed. A part of me loved that he was going to have to suck it up and go to dinner on my terms. I resisted the urge to push the close-door button at the last minute, but I didn’t bother to push the open-door button, either. He stuck his arm out and let the door bounce on it before getting on.

“Sure you can live with my tacky style?” I asked sarcastically as the elevator sank to ground level.

“I wouldn’t call that a style,” he said. He checked himself out in the mirrored wall, straightening his collar. “And I wouldn’t call you low maintenance, either.”

“You look fine,” I snapped. “You can stop admiring yourself.”

“You don’t want me admiring you; you don’t want me admiring myself. What do you want?”

The doors opened and I stepped through. “Food. That’s what I want. I’m starving.”

He grabbed my wrist at the last second. I was on the hotel side of the elevator door and he was inside the elevator. It felt like the door would never be able to close, with the brilliant fog of color that burst from his hand onto my arm. “Hey,” he said. “You really do look beautiful.”

I felt myself blush, and then bit the inside of my cheek to stop it. Blushing was for idiots. Blushing was for saps like . . . Jones? . . . No, I would not think about Jones. Not here. Not tonight. Not at all.

“Let’s eat before I starve to death right here on the hallway floor,” I said.

We got to the restaurant and were seated right away. The table reminded me a little too much of the table I’d sat at with Stefan the Gross. I shivered.

“You okay?” Chris asked, studying me over his menu.

“Just cold,” I answered.

We ordered, and I gazed around the room, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about my shoe choice. I imagined everyone looking at them under the table and thinking I was some sort of trashy girl Chris had picked up on the Strip. I dared people to meet my eyes. Nobody did.

The waiter brought our drinks and a basket of bread. I immediately grabbed a hunk and buttered it, just to give myself something to do. Peyton was definitely the right sister to be in the Hollis mix. I was not cut out for the fancy life.

“So,” Chris said, taking a sip of his drink and setting it back down on the napkin. He watched me butter my bread. “Tell me about this studio. Why are we here, exactly?”

“Luna’s getaway driver,” I said, the bite of bread I’d just taken crammed into one cheek.

“Right. The guy you ran away from at Pear Magic.”