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“She says she has a female photographer DarkMatter already vetted, a private studio available in forty-five minutes, and she wants to know how scandalous we intend to get.”

Scarlett held out her hand. “Give me the phone.”

Lacey passed it over.

Scarlett typed something.

I leaned across the space between us. “What did you say?”

She hit send before showing me the screen.

Scandalous enough to ruin three men’s control.

Aria’s reply appeared almost immediately.

Perfect. I’ll handle it.

The rest of the afternoon moved considerably faster than the morning.

Aria’s photographer was discreet, cheerful, and completely unfazed by three women arriving with champagne-fueled ambitions and very different ideas about what constituted an appropriately indecent photo.

By the time we finished, I had several images hidden in a locked folder on my phone that I could barely believe were me.

Lacey and Scarlett were equally pleased with themselves.

We separated afterward to get ready for our respective evenings, with plans to wait for the right moment before starting our little Valentine’s conspiracy.

Lachlan was in the living room when I stepped out of our bedroom in the red dress I’d bought. Thin spaghetti straps left my shoulders bare, while the fitted bodice hugged my breasts and waist before flaring into a short, full skirt that floated around my thighs when I walked. I’d finished it with red high heels and left my hair down over my shoulders.

The way he stared at me made every ridiculous dollar I had spent worth it.

Dinner was beautiful. Broadway was even better than I’d imagined. The music seemed to fill every inch of the theater, the sets transformed in front of my eyes, and for a few hours the entire world narrowed to whatever was happening on that stage. I’d had opportunities to go with the girls, but I’d wanted my first Broadway show to be with Lachlan. I was glad I’d waited.

By the time we stepped back into the cold Manhattan night, I was happy, buzzed on wine, and carrying four images in my phone that Lachlan knew absolutely nothing about, and I was dying to see whether his reaction lived up to everything I’d imagined while taking them.

He slid his hand around mine as our SUV waited at the curb.

“We’re meeting the others at Xyst for a drink before we head home.”

Now that caught my attention. I’d heard about Xyst for weeks without ever setting foot inside the club Lachlan practically lived in. It belonged to a part of his life I’d heard plenty about but hadn’t actually seen yet, and I was excited to see the place for myself.

The line outside Xyst stretched halfway down the block.

Valentine’s Day had apparently convinced a large percentage of Manhattan that romance required alcohol, loud music, and clothing designed to test the structural limits of fabric.

Our SUV had barely stopped at the curb before Lachlan opened his door and stepped out. I followed, gathering the skirt of my dress before he reached my side and offered me his hand.

Cold air rushed beneath my wrap.

“Busy night,” I said.

“Valentine’s always is.”

Two men at the entrance checked names and scanned membership credentials while another kept an eye on the line. The crowd parted, and we walked straight to the door.

A large man in a dark suit stepped away from the door as we approached.

“Evening, boss.”