Zoe was having a profound, out-of-body experience by the vending machines in the VIP wing lounge.
She aggressively shoved a crumpled five-dollar bill into the machine, her hands shaking slightly. She hit the button for a Dasani with the force of a woman trying to punch her way out of an alternate dimension.
The plastic bottle clunked into the tray. Zoe snatched it, twisted the cap off, and began gulping the water down as if it could physically drown the memory of the last five minutes.
She was barefoot. Her toes were smeared with literal river mud. She was drowning in Kai Vane's ridiculously expensive, heavily studded Saint Laurent jacket, which smelled intoxicatingly like his cologne. And she had just sprinted away from four of the most terrifyingly attractive, insanely wealthy men in the hemisphere.
