No way I was living my best life. Not with my baby sis along.

I side-eyed Haley, the caramel vixen leaning way over the balcony railing for a selfie. In the background, New Orleans traffic lit the night from thirty-five stories below. Shaking my head, I pulled my sister to safety.

"Hey! I was midslay." Haley's almond eyes glittered with amusement. People swore we looked alike, but I didn't see it.

"That Snapchat filter can't really make wings sprout from your skinny back," I said.

"This skinny back got us into a VIP party."

"I'm aware." I snorted. "Your cover girl looks will probably get us in trouble by the end of the night."

Trouble was Haley's calling card.

"Don't be such a killjoy," she said with a grin.

My calling card was being a killjoy, also known as being responsible. As much as I yearned for Big Easy excitement, if Mom had known that I, the college honors student, had allowed the high schooler to crash this upscale shindig, she would have gone apeshit.

"All right, it's almost midnight. Time to go," I said.

"I told you we could get in without being on the guest list. You lost the bet."

"Because you flashed the doorman. I'm not even sure he spoke English. I could kill you!"

"You owe me," Haley said smugly. She was having a blast.

"Okay, I might've been wrong about the guest list, but look in there. Any of that worth the trouble we'll be in if we get caught?" I waved at the suite beyond the sliding doors. The theme of the décor was luxury and decadence. Drugs everywhere. Sex acts all out in the . . . "On second thought, don't look. Just picture cops raiding the place."

"Girl, you know as well as I do the cops won't raid this party."

Haley was right. Half the guests struck me as celeb types, which meant some of them were probably her followers. She was famous on the 'Gram. This Bougie Meets Trap party was exactly Haley's scene. I was the one hiding outside on the balcony.

Here was a corner of quiet sanity. A wicker sectional with comfy cerulean pillows offered seating. Lush lime-green ferns danced in a late summer breeze. Hidden speakers piped music out to us. Through the sliding patio doors, the four-star hotel room had a rich, dark aesthetic. Like any secret could be kept within its walls.

But I reluctantly followed my sister back inside. We passed three people lounging on an emerald davenport. They clearly manifested fashion as a way of life, while my socks barely matched each other. One of them blinked at me—opaque black contacts covered their entire exposed eyeball—and I shuddered.

"Well, maybe if I weren't babysitting," I said over the music, "I could enjoy the smell of—what is that, vintage malt liquor and designer weed? I prefer being online. It's safer."

"Safe? Bruh, if living life to the fullest isn't worth dying for, then what even is?"

"Bad, bad philosophy, sis." I laughed. Shrugging, she reached for a drink. I blocked her. We were near the door. "Oh c'mon, Haley. Don't make me drag you out of here."

"Fine. We can go, but like I said . . ." She tipped her chin at someone behind me. "You owe me."

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw a good-looking gentleman ogling us. Golden-brown hair. A face made for movies. I watched the bartender pour him two shots. When he caught me staring, he peeled himself from the bar and sauntered over with the drinks. I shook my head with a disbelieving chuckle.

"Keep it moving. She's only seventeen," I said.

"I wasn't looking at her." He had a resonant Yat accent, very Brooklyn meets Deep South.

Haley nudged me. "He was looking at you," she whispered. "Boom. Enjoy this, my sexually repressed one." I hardly noticed her slipping away. The hot interloper handed me a shot, and I followed the glide of his tongue across his lips.

"I was standing over there, thinking you and I should raise a glass."

"To what, sir, pray tell?" I asked sarcastically.

"To how you successfully crashed my exclusive event."

"Wait. Your event?" I choked.

"Mm-hmm, and you probably shouldn't call me sir unless you're asking for a good time."

His grin was seductive. I stammered an apology, but he waved it off and tapped his glass to mine, even as I tried to turn it down.

"My sister and I were just—dammit, where did she go?"

"She's fine. She's under my protection."

Frowning, I followed Haley with my eyes. She was my responsibility, not his. He directed my gaze to three private security types shadowing my little sister. When a bubbly beverage materialized in her hand, our handsome host gestured, and one of his guys confiscated the champagne and replaced it with soda. That made me feel better.

Revelers in pursuit of various kinds of debauchery filed around the stranger and me. I stared longingly at the exit, but I could play nice. Give this guy two or three more minutes.

"Cheers?" he said, as if reading the capitulation on my face.

I downed my shot. Whatever was in the glass mellowed me immediately. I wasn't sure I liked that, but I tossed my wavy hair over my shoulder and gave him a winsome smile to get this over with.

"So, you must be some kind of big deal," I probed.

He shrugged modestly. "My name gets around. Places where I don't usually see girls like you. Tell me, what's the girl of my dreams doing here, like a lost sheep amongst wolves?"

I snorted a laugh. "Calling me the girl of your dreams—issa no."

"No?" He lifted a delicate eyebrow.

"Nope. Call me Aurie."

"You like the word no, don't you, Aurie?"

My smile froze. "Yeah, sometimes. It's a handy word."

His fingers found my wrist and lingered over my fluttering pulse. I scanned the room again for Haley. His grip tightened almost imperceptibly as his nostrils flared. There she was, talking to her agent.

"I told you, she's safe," he said. Why did his voice both soothe and unnerve me?

It was surprising to see Haley's straitlaced modeling rep,

Patricia Gramercy, at a party like this. She probably had Mom on speed dial, too, which meant there would be hell to pay for our bumping into her here. Still, better the devil I knew than the one I didn't. I pulled away from the sweet talker.

"I hate to drink and run, but it looks like my ride is here."

"Your ride? Are you sure?" he asked.

I hurried to the exit as I dug out my phone and texted Haley that I would meet them downstairs. I glanced behind me to see the charming host watching, but not following me. The world tilted once I hit the hotel corridor, and I stumbled into the first elevator I found. Vertigo. I was such a lightweight when it came to hard liquor.

As the elevator descended, I read Haley's text: Meet who dwnstrs? What r u talkn abt?

My brow furrowed from a sudden headache. What was she talking about? I dialed her. "You and Pat," I said. "I saw you talking to her. Tell her I'll explain everything to Mom."

". . . Been in the bathroom, Aurie. My agent isn't . . ." The signal was patchy. I jerked my head to clear the brain fog, and Haley's voice came in clearer. "Come back up. Back upstairs." The call dropped.

The elevator dinged. Ground floor. Lobby. Unsteady feet. Some of the people . . . looked weird. Double take. Blurry. I kept moving. Through the revolving door, into the night, running from . . . had that been Haley's voice? That mesmerizing command. Made me want to . . . Come back upstairs.

Get away from this place.

A concerned face swam in and out of focus, and a lady clasped my shoulders. "You okay, sweetie? Had too much to drink?" It was New Orleans. Everybody always had . . .

"No," I slurred. "I think I've been . . . drugged . . ."

"Jesus. Okay, hun. Gonna get my truck, just—"

"Help me," I pleaded. My vision faded on the woman jogging to a vehicle idling near the hotel entrance. Everything went black. I never saw what hit me.