"I've called a car," I lied to a concerned doorman to avoid questions.
But when I checked my app, the screen mocked me. *No cars available.* We were halfway up a hill in an exclusive residential zone; rideshares were non-existent.
A gust of wind swept through the canyon, cutting right through the thin fabric of my evening gown. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself, regretting leaving my coat in Olivia's car.
Just as I was debating the insanity of walking down the hill in heels, a sleek black Bentley Mulsanne glided out of the shadows. It pulled up right beside me.
The rear window rolled down silently. Phineas Everett sat there, his profile sharp against the dark leather interior. He turned to look at me, his expression unreadable.
"Get in," he said. "I'll see you home."
My inst
