It’s a long-sleeved, asymmetrical wrap dress in a shade of burgundy that is dripping with holiday cheer. It’s a little short and bares a lot of cleavage, but I can pull it off. Even the shortest dresses look long on my stubby legs.

“I have a pair of heels that’ll go with it,” she says. “They might be a little big on you. They’re a size nine.”

“I can work with that.”

`“But bring another dress just in case,” Paloma says. “Life is about choices.”

“You also don’t want to be the girl wearing the same thing as someone else.”

They throw more pieces onto my bed that they deem “Ragnar Estate approved” and leave me to finish packing my bag while they get ready for their club opening.

Asher is picking me up tomorrow morning at nine sharp. He has reminded me twenty-seven times. I’m not exaggerating. I have nineteen text messages, five emails, and three voicemails. He even told the building’s doorman to remind me as I was leaving today. It’s like I have a reputation for being late.

But it’s usually because I’m waiting for something to be double-toasted and slathered in cream cheese.

I zip my bag and place it next to my door before I coat my lips in bright red lipstick and glance in the mirror for a final check before I leave for the Christmas Crawl. I’m wearing a flouncy camisole that leaves little to the imagination and a green leather skirt.

My boobs look great.

I look hot.

I’m definitely not trying to hook up with anyone.

At all.

“Can you believe Levi had the fucking balls to threaten Alice with Fashion Week?” I hear Natasha’s voice when I step out of my room.

“What?” Paloma asks.

“Told her she’d get pulled from Paris if she talked,” Anouk says.

“I saw him at my PR office the other day,” Joey says. “He’s lucky there were witnesses around.”

“I don’t think I would care,” Natasha says. “Actually, I’d prefer an audience. God knows he’d love one.”

I’m standing in the conference room again and I see Asher’s face, grim and unwavering, which isn’t much different than his normal face, but there was something in his eyes. Sharp and cold and glaring. I hear it in Natasha’s voice.

What do they know that I don’t?

* * *

Bree has a lot of rules.

We have to sit facing the door. Our drinks always have to be half full. We have to be engaged in conversation. We can’t eat. We don’t initiate. We can laugh, but not too much. They can’t be wearing sneakers. Or bootcut jeans. And they have to be at least six feet tall.

The thing about rules is that I’m really good at breaking them.