Wow. I’m losing it. Maybe I should ask Brody if I can stay with him? That’s what I’ll do. After we finally have sex, I’ll ask him to get us a hotel room for a couple of days. He’s loaded. His dad is a TV executive, for God’s sake.

“Raven? Talk to me.” His voice is shaky, and he sounds scared.

“Sorry, I’m fine. I’ll see you tonight.” I lower the phone and continue staring down at him.

Look away, Raven. Look away. My heart is pounding so fast I can feel it in my temples. But it’s not me who breaks our stare; it’s him. He turns, his gray suit accenting his broad shoulders, and walks away from my view.

I don’t move, just keep looking out the window as I try to rationalize it all.

Because I’m in crisis mode right now, and if I’m not careful, I’ll go over. I breathe deeply and take a step back. Exhaling, I lift my phone again.

Cher.

I’ll call her, tell her everything. Confess all my sordid thoughts, get them out so they’re free and then they can’t hurt me.

But I don’t.

For as long as I live, I’ll never understand why I toss my phone on the bed and walk into the bathroom pulling my T-shirt off.

Maybe it’s because he’s forbidden and that excites me.

Or maybe it’s because everything about this is wrong and dangerous, and for some reason, I like that.

Yeah, I’m not calling Cher.

I’m not calling or confessing anything.

Chapter Five

RAVEN

I’m pacing in my new Chanel ankle boots, an impulse buy right before I left New York. I know you’re technically not supposed to wear boots in the summer, but these are white leather with a jeweled C and circles, and I need to look fantastic tonight.

I look at my phone. Seven p.m. “Where is he?” I’ve literally spent the day getting ready for this. I feel like a bride in the 1700s waiting for my new husband to deflower me.

Ridiculous.

I sit down on the edge of the long white couch, then jump up as I hear the beep alerting me that someone is at the gate.

“Finally. Okay, calm, you’re calm,” I tell myself, then look around the room for cameras. Thankfully, I don’t see any. That would be the icing on the cake since I’ve been pacing and pretty much acting like a crazy person for hours.

I push on the button. “Yes?”

“It’s me. I’m sorry, traffic was bad, and I got los—” I beep him in, cutting him off, not caring for his stupid excuses as to why he’s an hour late.