I jerk my red spaghetti strap dress off a hanger and grab my new Prada wedge sandals. This should all work. My dress clings to my form, and my heeled sandals make my legs and ass look fantastic.

It’s two thirty. That gives me plenty of time to get ready, steal some of Jett’s condoms, call an Uber, and find a hip place on Sunset Boulevard for happy hour.

I have a credit card, fake ID, and killer shoes. What more do I need?

I take a breath, my hands slightly shaking with adrenaline. I’m actually doing this. He’s not the only one who dares.

I pull open my nightstand drawer to look at the card he wrote to me.

Do you dare?

Oh, Mr. Powers, you have no idea.

Chapter Eighteen

RAVEN

I lean forward, finishing my eye makeup. As an environmentalist, I always try to keep my showers around five minutes or so to save water, but today, I’m kind of being a rebel, and I took a long hot shower.

I did a face mask, used my favorite orange peel sugar body scrub, and shaved everything that needed to be touched up—since I wax all the time, it wasn’t much.

Now done with my makeup, I step back to look at myself. If I were a man, I would want to fuck me.

Next, I need to sneak into Jett’s room for the condoms. First, I order an Uber. It says ten minutes.

Perfect.

I peek my head out my door. It’s around 4:00 p.m., so besides Jett’s random assistants and Patty or Maria, it’s just me.

I take a deep breath. What is going on with my nerves? Calm, just relax, I repeat in my head, then walk to his door and tap lightly.

Nothing.

“Okay, in and out.” I look around, then swing the door open and slip inside. Everything is perfect as usual. It’s hard not to look at their bed.

“Assholes,” I snarl, marching to his side of the bed and jerking open his nightstand drawer. Hmm, the gun is gone, but the condoms are still there. Of course they are. He doesn’t use them.

I grab a few, looking for his box with his sketches, but it’s gone also.

Great.

A small twinge of guilt plagues me. Clearly, he moved it because of me. Leave it, Raven. It’s none of your business. I slam the drawer shut and easily slip out, trying not to breathe in my mom’s perfume. I don’t care that it cost her thousands of dollars. There’s something with her and that scent I’ve always disliked.

My phone dings. Zander, my driver, is here. I take the stairs as fast as I can in my heeled sandals. God, the last thing I need is to fall. I’d be stuck in my room for weeks.