TARYN

I wouldn't have believed I'd have anything to do with Riot other than pleasure him in a private jet. But here I was in Cabo San Lucas.

The dressing room was like a hive of high-end vanity.

The room was thick with the cloying scent of hairspray, expensive foundation, and the humid air wafting in from the Pacific. I sat in a swivel chair, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me in the mirror.

My face had been sculpted into a masterpiece of shimmering bronzer and smoky shadows, my lips painted in a bright, glossy red that looked like wet paint.

The stylist tugged at the hem of...