June looked at her blankly for a full five seconds before she caved. “Okay, fine, so I want to get into Ziggy’s pants tonight. I thought you were okay with me and him.”

“You’ve wanted to get into a lot of guys’ pants before, and it never involved an LBD and La Perla.” Annika narrowed her eyes as June walked back to her chair and sat down. “You’re not going to go and develop feelings for my sworn enemy’s minion, are you?”

June rolled her eyes, pulled a fuchsia lipstick out, and did her lips, using her phone as a mirror. “Okay, firstly, he’s not Hudson’s minion. He’s his developer, his right-hand man.”

“Not the point!” Alarm bells were going off in Annika’s head.

“And secondly,” June continued, speaking over her as she put her lipstick away, “this is just a hookup. Seriously. June Stewart isn’t ready to settle down anytime soon. You know that.”

After a beat, Annika relaxed and huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I do know that. Don’t know what I was thinking.”

June got up and pulled the rolled-up banner from the closet. “What do we need this for?”

Annika grinned. “Walk with me and I’ll show you.”

By the time they got up to the rooftop, the debauchery was already in full swing. Annika stood by the entrance, looking around in disbelief.

The music thumped beneath her ballet flats. A traveling bar had been set up to the immediate left, where a bartender who almost definitely played Black Panther’s body double was expertly mixing cocktails with top-shelf liquor.

Although she couldn’t see Hudson yet, a long line had already formed in front of the bar, consisting of people Annika vaguely remembered from their blank stares in the elevator. Now, though, those very same nine-to-five zombies had transformed into party animals—ties loosened, sleeves rolled up, bags discarded. Women were putting their hair up into no-nonsense buns to deal with the heat, losing their blazers and cardigans. Models who made Greek gods and goddesses look like trolls were already circulating around with perfect canapes, bright smiles on their beautiful faces. Next to the bartender, someone was setting up a large chocolate fountain. A man juggling what looked like glass orbs walked past them, dressed only in skin-tight, cheetah-print pants.

“Shit,” Annika whispered, darting a glance at June, who looked impressed. Seeing Annika’s face, she quickly rearranged her features into a neutral mask.

“Meh. I’ve seen better.” She gestured to the banner and bags. “What do you want to do with our stuff?”

Annika pushed her shoulders back and shook out her hair. “Let’s get in and get set up.”