“Gabe?” Rael shot up, caught off guard by my presence.

What did he think? That I’d invite him for a drink at my house and not show up?

Olívia, meanwhile, stayed put, sprawled on the floor around the glass coffee table, barely covered by a scrap of satin she probably called a nightgown.

I descended the stairs, glaring at Rael, knowing he wasn’t the problem—Olívia was. She’d likely coerced him to sit with her, playing the poor, pitiful girl, maybe spinning some sob story. ...