As she’d stared up at his chiseled chin from her place in his arms, she’d been transported to Old Hollywood. Adrian had saved her from stepping in vomit at Rumer Willis’s birthday party. She’d had at least two facials since then, right? What was time anymore? Piper could remember their introduction like it was yesterday. God, the night of their first meeting seemed like a hundred years ago. Hadn’t his cold unattainability attracted her to him in the first place? The way her boyfriend impatiently checked his Chopard watch and scanned the crowd over her shoulder only added to the bored-playboy effect. Satisfied that nothing concerning her appearance was glaringly out of place, Piper trailed her gaze up the pleated leg of Adrian’s classic Tom Ford suit made of the finest sharkskin wool, unable to quell a sigh over the luxurious peak lapels and monogrammed buttons. Big enough to draw a man’s eye, small enough to achieve an athletic vibe in every fourth Instagram post. She’d swiped the tape holding up her boobs while backstage at a runway show in Milan during fashion week-we’re talking the holy grail of tit tape-and those puppies were on point.
Her tastefully tanned legs were polished to such a shine, she’d checked her teeth in them earlier.
Piper Bellinger looked down at her lipstick-red, one-shoulder Valentino cocktail dress and tried to find the flaw but came up with nothing.
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