“Are you done?” Hardin asks, leaning against the sink.

“With the argument or my hair?” I smirk at him.

“You’re annoying.” He smiles back at me and slaps my behind as I move around him to exit the bathroom.

I’m glad he’s being somewhat playful. That bodes well for the night.

As we cross the hallway to my room, Christian calls up from the living room, “Hardin—you here still? You coming to listen to some jazz? It’s not heavy metal or whatever, but . . .”

I don’t hear the rest of his words because I’m busy laughing at the impromptu Christian Vance impersonation Hardin is doing. Pushing his chest lightly, I say, “Go see him. I’ll be right out.”

Back in my room, I grab my purse and check my cell phone. I have got to call my mother soon; I keep putting it off, and she won’t stop calling. I have a message from Zed as well.

Please don’t be upset with me about tonight. I was a jerk and I didn’t mean to be. Sorry.

I delete the message and stick my phone back into my purse. My friendship with Zed has to end now. I’ve been leading him on for too long, and every time I say goodbye to him I end up backtracking and make the situation worse by seeing him again. It’s not fair to him or to Hardin. Hardin and I have enough problems as it is. It bothers me as a woman that Hardin tries to forbid me from seeing Zed, but I can’t deny that I’m being a huge hypocrite if I continue hanging out with him. I would never want Hardin to be friends with Molly and spend time with her alone—the thought itself makes me nauseous. Zed has made his feelings for me very clear, and it’s not fair to anyone if I let the situation with him linger and tacitly encourage him. Zed is kind to me, and he’s been there for me a lot, but I hate the way that I always feel like I have to explain myself to him and defend my relationship.

Enjoying the fantasy of a great night out with my guy, I descend the stairs . . . and am surprised that when I enter the living room, Hardin is standing there with his hands in his hair, looking exasperated.

“Hell no!” he huffs, backing away from Christian.

“Bloodstained jeans and that dirty shirt aren’t appropriate attire in the club, regardless of your connections to the owner,” Christian says, pushing some sort of black fabric to Hardin’s chest.

“I’m not going, then.” Hardin pouts, letting the garment fall to the floor at Christian’s feet.

“Don’t be a baby, just put the damn shirt on.”

“If I wear the shirt, I’m keeping the jeans on,” Hardin says, negotiating, and looking to me for support.

“Didn’t you bring any clothes that don’t have blood on them?” Christian smiles, then bends down to pick up the shirt.

“You can wear your black jeans, Hardin,” I suggest in an effort to mediate between the two men.

“Fine, give me the fucking shirt, then.” Hardin snatches the shirt from Christian’s hands and lifts his middle finger to him as he stalks down the hallway.

“Maybe a haircut, too,” Christian shouts after him teasingly, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Oh, would you leave him alone already. I won’t stop him from giving you a black eye,” Kimberly jokes.

“Yeah . . . yeah . . .” Christian pulls her into his arms and kisses her mouth.

I turn away just as the doorbell rings.

“That will be Lillian!” Kim announces while wiggling out of Christian’s embrace.

Hardin walks out into the living room as Lillian comes through the front door. “Why is she here?” he groans. He’s put on the black button-down shirt, which doesn’t look bad on him.

“Don’t be mean. She babysits Smith, and she’s your friend, remember?” I say. My first impression of Lillian wasn’t a good one, but I’ve grown to like the girl, even though I haven’t seen her since we got home from the Vacation from Hell.

“No, she’s not.”

“Tessa! Hardin!” Lillian exclaims, her bright blue eyes beaming and her smile bright. I’m thankful that she’s not wearing the same dress I am, like she was the first time I met her, at the restaurant in Sand Point.

“Hey.” I smile back, and Hardin curtly nods.

“You look great,” she compliments, looking me up and down.

“Thanks—so do you.” She’s dressed in a simple cardigan and khaki pants.

“Okay, if you both are done . . .” Hardin complains.

“Nice to see you, too, Hardin.” Lillian rolls her eyes at him, and he slightly softens, offering her a half smile.

Meanwhile, Kimberly is rushing around the living room, putting on her heels and checking her makeup in the large mirror above the couch. “Smith is upstairs. We shouldn’t be gone any later than midnight.”

“Ready, love?” Christian asks her. And when she nods yes, he spreads his arms wide and gestures to the door.

“We’re driving separately,” Hardin announces.

“Why? We have a driver for tonight,” Christian says.

“I want to drive myself in case we want to leave.”

Christian shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

As we head out, I get a better look at Hardin’s shirt, which is not unlike the one he usually wears when he’s forced to dress up. The difference here, however, is that this shirt is covered with a faint, barely noticeable animal print . . .

“Don’t say a word,” Hardin warns me when he notices me staring.

“I’m not.” I bite my lip, and he groans.

“It’s hideous,” he says, and I giggle the entire way to the car.

THE JAZZ CLUB is centrally located in downtown Seattle. The streets are full of people, as if it were a Saturday night instead of Wednesday. We wait inside Hardin’s car until a sleek black town car pulls up next to us and Kimberly and Christian step out.

“Rich bastard,” Hardin says, squeezing my thigh before we get out ourselves.

With a brisk smile, the bald bouncer unhooks the velvet rope from the silver stand and lets us by. Moments later, Kimberly is leading us through the dark club, showing off various features of the place while Christian wanders off by himself. Blocks of gray stone serve as tables, and there are groups of black couches accented with white cushions. The only color in the entire club comes from the bouquets of red roses that are sitting atop each massive stone. The soft music playing through the club is relaxing yet stimulating at the same time.

“Fancy.” Hardin rolls his eyes. He looks painfully beautiful under the dim lights. Christian’s printed button-down shirt paired with the black jeans make for a deadly attack on my libido.

“It’s nice, right?” Kimberly turns around, beaming.

“Sure, sure,” Hardin replies. The moment we get near the crowded tables, Hardin’s arm wraps around my hips, pulling me closer to him as we walk.

“Christian is in the VIP section. We have it to ourselves,” Kimberly informs us.

We walk to the back of the club, and a satin curtain is pulled open to reveal a moderate-sized space with more black curtains serving as walls. Four couches form the perimeter of the room, and a large stone rests in the center, covered with bottles of alcohol, a bowl of ice, and various finger foods.

I’m so distracted I almost miss seeing Max sitting on one of the couches, across from Christian.

Great. Max rubs me the wrong way, and I know Hardin doesn’t care for him either. Hardin’s arm tightens around me again, and he shoots a glare toward Christian.

Kimberly smiles, ever the perfect hostess. “Nice to see you again, Max.”

Max grins. “You, too, dear.” He takes her hand in his and lifts it to his lips.

“Excuse me.” A woman’s voice sounds behind me. Hardin and I step to the side, and Sasha prances through the small space. Her intimidating height and barely-there white dress help her claim the entire room.

“Great,” Hardin says, echoing my thought from seconds ago. He’s about as happy to see her as I am to see Max.

“Sasha.” Kimberly tries to appear pleased to see the woman but fails. One of the flaws of Kim’s genuine openness and honesty is that it’s hard for her to hide her emotions.