In the dressing room while trying on jeans, it didn’t even occur to her to snap a selfie in the mirror. She just wanted to be there, in the moment, with this man. Because the way he made her feel was three million times better than the way three million strangers made her feel.

Holy God. Was she going to tell Brendan she loved him?

Yeah.

Yeah, she was.

If she thought breaking into a rooftop pool and summoning the police department was crazy, this felt a million times riskier. This was like rappelling down the side of that LA hotel with sticks of dynamite poking out of her ears. Because she was new at this, and the road to finding out exactly where she fit into her new place was a long one.

What if, ultimately, she didn’t fit at all?

The way she’d felt when Adrian cut her loose would be laughable compared to disappointing Brendan. He knew exactly who he was (commander of a vessel), what he wanted (a fleet of boats), and how to get it (apparently make millions of dollars and just have boats built??). Meanwhile, she’d spent a week trying to find a chandelier with the right vibe.

This could be a disaster.

But she looked into his eyes now and heard his words echo back from the deck of the Della Ray. You have perseverance, character, and a huge heart.

And she chose to believe him.

She chose to believe in herself.

“Brendan, I—”

Her phone went nuts in her purse. Loud, scattered notes that she didn’t immediately place because it had been so long since hearing them.

“Oh.” She reared back a little. “That’s Kirby’s ringtone.”

“Kirby.” His brows snuck together. “The girl who turned you in to the police?”

“The one and only. She hasn’t called me since I left.” Something told her not to, but she unzipped her purse and took out the phone anyway, weighing it in her hand. “I wonder if something is wrong. Maybe I should answer.”

Brendan said nothing, just studied her face.

Her indecision lasted too long, and the phone stopped screaming.

She blew out a breath of relief, glad the decision had been taken out of her hands—and then the phone started blowing up. It wasn’t just Kirby calling again; it was text messages from names she vaguely recognized, email pings . . . and now another number with an LA area code was calling on the other line. What was going on?

“I guess I should take this,” she muttered, frowning. “Can I meet you by the elevators?”

“Yeah,” Brendan said after a moment, seeming like he wanted to say more.

“It’s just a phone call.”

When that statement came out sounding like she was trying to reassure herself, too, she cut her losses and left the shop. Was it just a phone call, though? Her finger hovered over the green answer button. This was the first time her LA life had touched her since coming to Washington. She hadn’t even answered yet, but it felt like someone was shaking her in bed, trying to wake her up from a dream.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she scolded herself quietly, hitting talk. “Hey, Kirby. Really stretched that apology window, didn’t you, babe?”

Piper frowned at her reflection in the steel elevator bank. Was it her imagination or did she sound completely different talking to her LA friends?

“Piper! I did apologize! Didn’t I? Oh my God, if not, I am, like, down on my knees. Seriously. I was such a terrible friend. I just couldn’t afford for my dad to cut me off.”

Why, oh, why did she answer the call? “Yeah, neither could I.” It might have something to do with the endless dings and vibrations happening against her ear. “Look, it’s fine, Kirby. I don’t hold it against you. What’s up?”

“What’s up? Are you serious?” A few honks fired off in the background, the sound of a bus motoring past. “Have you seen the cover of LA Weekly?”

“No,” she said slowly.

“You are on it—and looking like a smoke show, bitch. Oh my God, the headline, Piper. ‘A Party Princess’s Vanishing Act.’ Everyone is freaking out.”

Her temples started to pound. “I don’t understand.”

“Go look at their Instagram. The post is blowing up.” She squealed. “The gist of the article is that you threw the party of the decade and then disappeared. It’s like a giant mystery, Piper. You’re like, fucking Banksy or something. Everyone wants to know why you went from Wilshire Boulevard to some random harbor. You didn’t even tag your location! People are dying for details.”

“Really?” She found a bench and fell onto it, trying to puzzle through the unexpected news. “No one cared yesterday.”

Kirby ignored that. “More importantly, they want to know when you’ll come back and reclaim your throne! Which brings me to the main point of my phone call.” She exhaled sharply. “Let me throw you a welcome back party. I’ve already got the venue lined up. Exclusive invites only. The Party Princess Returns. I might have leaked the idea to a few designers, some beverage companies, and they are offering to pay you, Piper. A whole lot of money to walk out in their dress, drink their shit on camera. I’m talking about six figures. Let’s do this. Let’s make you a fucking legend.”

A prickle climbed Piper’s arm, and she looked up to find Brendan standing a few yards away, holding her bag of jeans and a smaller one, which she assumed contained the cologne. He wasn’t close enough to hear the conversation, but his expression told her he sensed the gravity of the phone call.

Was the phone call that important, though? This rise in popularity would be fleeting, fast. She’d have to ride the wave as far as possible, then immediately start trying to find a fresh way to be relevant. Compared to the man she loved being out on a boat in a storm . . . or a wave coming out of nowhere and snatching someone off the deck . . . a trip back into the limelight didn’t seem that significant.

A month ago, this unexpected windfall of notoriety would have been the greatest thing that ever happened in her life.

Now it mostly left her hollow.

Was there a nagging part of Piper that wanted to fall back into this lifestyle she was guaranteed to be good at? Yes, she’d be lying if she said there wasn’t. It would be second nature to strut into a dark club to the perfect song and be applauded for accomplishing absolutely nothing but being pretty and rich and photogenic.

“Piper. Are you there?”

“Yeah,” she croaked, her eyes still locked with Brendan’s. “I can’t commit.”

“Yes, you can,” Kirby said, exasperated. “Look, I heard Daniel slashed your funds, but if you do this party, you’ll have enough cash to move out, do your own thing. Maybe we could even revamp Pucker Up now that you have some extra clout! I’ll buy you the plane ticket back to LA, all right? You can stay in my guest room. Done and done. I booked the venue for September seventh. Everywhere was already taken for Labor Day.”

“September seventh?” Piper massaged the center of her forehead. “Isn’t that a Tuesday?”

“So? What are you, forty?”

God. This was her best friend? “Kirby, I have to go. I’ll think about it.”

“Are you insane? There is nothing to think about. Paris is on my short list to DJ this thing—and she’s at the bottom. This is the one we’ll be talking about for the rest of our lives.”