Isabella walked the two blocks from the subway station to the restaurant and ignored the way a crew of guys catcalled her. Normally she’d have flipped them off or shouted something in Spanish back at them, but her nerves were getting the better of her.
Amelia and Sabine had met her at her house and helped her find something to wear. Sabine’s comment about making sure it was something which could slide off as fast as she put it on had her spine tingling.
Her sister and best friend had looked Camden Torres up on the internet while she had tossed through her closet. There had been one photo of him taken by a paparazzi long lens, climbing up the ladder of his yacht wearing only black shorts. It depicted a scene right from a James Bond movie, and it was front and center in her brain. The man
