♫ Every night, every weekend, weeknight
All my lights off when I wake up
Tears under my makeup
Your lips will stay shut, wanna wake up, break up ♪
{Lykke Li—Sex money feelings die}

Despite her restless dreams and hazy hangover upon waking up, Coralie had made up her mind. Bella and Delilah were correct—blocking the three main culprits out of her life was for the best, for now. Until she decided which of them—if any—were the right fit.

Minutes after grabbing her phone, she sat up straight in bed, took a deep breath, and texted them, starting with Ryan, that she'd seen most recently.

CORALIE: I wanted to let you know that to focus on my job and on myself, I'm going to block your number—indefinitely. I'll reactivate it when I'm ready. Take care ♥

It was a bit impersonal, but with the way they'd left things—him sneaking out of her office, and her struggling to slip her pants back on—she knew he'd understand. If anything, he'd agree with her that severing that link between them might make things easier for them both.

Next was Chester, and she gave him a remix of the same spiel she'd given Ryan. She made it a little more personal, mentioning how he'd been correct, they couldn't be friends, and while they worked in the same building, cutting off phone contact would be ideal.

It was the last message she dreaded the most. The one for Michael—who'd be there that weekend and who was expecting a reply on whether she'd see him. He'd done nothing to deserve the break; nothing but be supportive and caring. Nothing but be the finest boyfriend a woman could ask for, and Coralie kept blowing it.

"Fuck, I'm an asshole." She clicked on the last message they'd exchanged, and stared at the screen for a few seconds before coming up with something to say to him.

CORALIE: Hey. I've not made up my mind yet, but to concentrate on my work, I have to block your number. Just for a little while... so I can figure things out. I'll contact you via Facebook to let you know if I choose to meet up with you or not. I'm sorry for being so indecisive and complicated. It's for the best that I get some distance. Take care ♥

"Take care? Ugh." She gagged and tossed her phone across the bed as she threw the covers off. But once she was standing, and fighting a bout of dizziness, she glared at the phone again. "No, wait—I need to block them on everything. Social media, too. Not Michael... but the other two."

She hurried to deactivate Chester and Ryan from her Facebook and Instagram, and a strange wave of relief overcame her. No more stalking their profiles, or sitting around wondering if they were stalking hers. No more gritting her teeth at their handsome pictures and struggling not to like everything they posted. For a few weeks, she wouldn't have that burden on her; and maybe, maybe, her libido would calm the hell down.

As she showered, she found that no, her libido had no intention of settling down, not yet. It took all her might to not envision Michael behind her, washing her back, kissing her neck. Or Chester massaging her scalp with peppermint shampoo while licking her lips, slowly, sensually. Or Ryan gently pressing her against the wall and sliding his fingers into—

"Fuck, no!" She let the bar-soap slop onto the tiled tub and turned the water off. "I have to get these dudes out of my mind, seriously!"

She got dressed, dried her hair, put on make-up—all while grinding her teeth and muttering mantras under her breath. Don't think of Michael. Don't picture Chester. And don't be hungry for Ryan. No matter how much she repeated it, she sensed their presence—like ghosts that had followed her, attached to her, wanting to possess her. Like poltergeists with no other afterlife purpose but to torment her until she exploded.

Going into the office would, hopefully, provide a distraction... as long as she didn't bump into Chester. She pondered the possibility as she guzzled down some of Delilah's leftover coffee, and then brushed her teeth.

He said he'd take the stairs. And now that I've messaged him that he's blocked... will he still do that?

On the way out, she discovered Bella passed out on the couch, a silk mask over her eyes. Coralie smiled as she tiptoed closer to watch her best friend in her peaceful slumber. A heavy blanket covered her, and one leg dangled off the sofa, revealing lavender painted toes and a toe-ring. That was new; Coralie didn't recall ever seeing Bella wear one of those. She shrugged and pulled the covers up to Bella's chin, and placed a quick kiss on her forehead. Bella stirred, but didn't wake. Her dark copper curls caressed her cheeks and Coralie could have sworn she was smirking in her dreams.

Coralie left her a note on the fridge—to meet at the bar later that night, during her shift—and took off.

To her luck, the elevator ride was uneventful. Her only companion was a woman on the phone—in an argument, it sounded like—and she got off on the floor below Coralie's. No sign of Chester; she smiled on the outside, but inside, she hated to admit she was a tad disappointed. He had stuck to his promise, and a flimsy, fickle part of her wished he hadn't. One last encounter, after blocking him... a brief hello to exchange apologies, to explain why she hadn't had time to warn him...

"No, he doesn't care," she said to herself, marching down the hallway leading to her office. "He's been spending nights with someone else, anyway," she scoffed, "hasn't he? Friends, not friends—he's too busy to give a shit."

She was still muttering to herself when she opened her door, and nearly lept back out into the corridor upon finding someone sitting at her desk. For a split second, she worried—and prayed—it was Ryan, but the vivid pink shade of hair atop a feminine face proved otherwise.

"Ah, there you are!" Nikita hopped up from the chair and swished over to Coralie. She wore one of her customary maxi skirts, with yellow butterflies and flowers on black, and a frilly, long-sleeved white shirt. A typical Nikita wardrobe choice—she didn't care about mixing patterns and looking put-together. "I put clothes on, that's being put together," she'd once told Coralie, when someone had mentioned her purple and green attire.

"Am I late?" Coralie's eyes widened. "Was I supposed to be in earlier today? Did I miss a meeting? Shit."

Nikita giggled as she tugged Coralie into a hug. "Girl, you come in whenever you want to. There's no schedule here. Not anymore."

"Not anymore?" Coralie gulped and extracted herself from Nikita's sticky, sweet embrace. She smelled like she'd rolled into a pool of cotton candy and sugar. Sometimes, that scent was reassuring; but today, Coralie had a hunch something was up. Not that Nikita wasn't friendly, but there was a squeak to her tone that didn't match up to her usual self.

"You," Nikita pressed a finger to Coralie's chin, "scored a big gig today." Her bubblegum lips spread into a grin. "Really big."

Coralie batted her lashes. Her feet were rooted to the ground, but if Nikita pressed any harder, she'd topple backwards. "M-me? A gig? What gig?" She hadn't been contacted by anyone, hadn't received any specific comments on her recent YouTube videos, and no one at the company had implied she'd signed up for any shows.

"The gig. You remember that rooftop spot we were trying to get you hooked up with in the next few months? And they kept blowing us off because you didn't have an album out and you were relatively new?" Coralie nodded; she hadn't had much say in this situation, because Nikita and the other bosses were working on it. And they were upset, too, as this place was the hottest bar in town. To be fair, she'd all but forgotten about it, being certain she'd never score a show there. "Well, things have changed."

"How?" Coralie swayed past Nikita and set her purse on the desk. "They didn't like me. I wasn't famous enough, or whatever."

Nikita clicked her tongue. "Right. Well, someone famous enough is playing there in two weeks, and that person requested you."

"Whoa." Coralie whirled around, eyebrows shooting skywards. "Someone requested me? Who? How? Is that a thing? To request someone?"

"Yeah." Nikita leaned against the opened door and crossed her arms. "Bigger singers can solicit smaller ones for an opening act or a duet. And the bar or venue owners would do best to obey their requests; they usually do. They did this time—you will be singing at High Top the weekend after next."

High Top—it was a cheesy, silly name, and yet it carried weight in the New York music realm. It had been on everyone's tongues at Poisoned Paradise since Coralie had set foot in the NYC headquarters, and she'd been desperate to go, even as a guest, to watch another performer. But they were overbooked, overpriced, and Coralie's name didn't ring any bells to them. Yet.

"I... but... shit." Coralie gripped the edge of her desk to not crumble to the floor. Her legs were jittery—and for once, not because a man was standing naked before her. No, she was shaky and nervous because of her job. Because of the massive opportunity that had landed at her feet.

"It's super short notice, I know." Nikita tucked her hair behind her ears. "You won't be able to perform any of your new stuff, there's no time to record or rehearse it. But four or five of the songs you've given us recently... can you pick those out and submit them to me by the end of the day? We'll be spending the rest of this week, and the next, working on these, getting you prepped for this. It's huge. It's the kind of gig that will get your name out there, Coralie."

Oh, Coralie knew this. She'd hoped for it for so long, and now, despite all the crap she'd done, all the lies she'd told, the misadventures she'd gotten herself into, it was here. The opportunity, the break in her career. She hadn't deserved it, but she'd gladly take it on.

Fuck, perfect timing blocking those guys. I'm going to need all my time to myself to get ready for this.

"I'm... I don't... thank you, Nikita." Coralie's cheeks flushed, and she was overwhelmed with affection for her boss. She wanted to hug her, throw confetti, pop open some champagne—but something inside of her warned her to stay calm, dignified, to not get ahead of herself. "And short notice? That's fine, I bet that's how it happens for most artists, right? And that's when they seize the occasion. So I'll seize the occasion, too."

"Atta girl." Nikita beamed at her and began to leave, but stopped in the doorway, cocking her head. "So, you're not more curious to know who it is?"

"Huh?" Coralie was already mentally going over all her songs to decide which she'd perform. Her songs. Her music. To be listened to by hundreds in a prestigious rooftop bar in New York City.

Fuck, this is happening, isn't it?

"The other singer? She asked for you by name, by the way." Nikita winked. "You may not be famous in the bars, but your YouTube videos are still out there and still drawing attention."

Coralie bit her lip. Of course she wanted to know who'd handed her this gig on a silver platter; but she was so preoccupied with what to sing, what to wear, who to invite—

"Mellie Murray," said Nikita, cocking one eyebrow. "The pop singer who got her start on YouTube? Like you?"

Coralie's jaw dropped. "Mellie Murray?" Her legs went from trembling to jelly-like and unstable. She had to crawl around the desk and sit on her chair to not melt into a puddle of admiration and shock.

Mellie Murray was, in Coralie's opinion, one of the hottest, trendiest singers of late. She had indeed started off on YouTube, then with contests in bars, then buffing on side-streets. She'd been on several reality TV shows—never winning them—and had grown into a household name, a regular celebrity because of her failures. But recently she'd finally been offered a record deal—that took too long, Coralie thought—and her popularity had soared. She had duos with rappers, overplayed commercials, booked tours, and millions of followers on social media. And with all that, she remained, according to anyone who had met her, humble, aware of her beginnings, head on her shoulders. She never refused her fans and donated money to striving artists across the country.

"She... asked for me?" Coralie's eyes were dry, and she couldn't blink, afraid that if she did, she'd realize she'd been asleep and this was all a dream.

"Uh huh." Nikita held on to the door and swung it to and fro. "Our owner was at High Top last night, having a few drinks, trying to put in a good word for you—and Mellie was there. She overheard. 'Coralie Amber Watson, the YouTube sensation?' Those were her words. She struck up a conversation with him and told him she was performing soon—and she wanted you there. 'Any of her songs—the newer the better. I'm taking this girl under my wing,' she said."

"No." Now Coralie couldn't swallow, wary she'd choke, close her eyes—and awaken from this insane fantasy. "Mellie Murray knew who I was? What the..."

"She did." Nikita inclined her head and skidded out of the room. "This is for real, Coralie, so get to work! I need those songs by tonight!"

Slouching in her seat, Coralie fanned her face. She'd grown hot, too hot, and knew she had a water bottle in her purse, but it was too far for her to reach, and her legs were still like pudding.

"Fuck." Her phone, however, was within her grasp, so she took hold of it and opened up her messages. On instinct, she went straight to Ryan—and paused, further liquefying into her chair. "And fuck that."

He knew of Mellie Murray—they'd talked about her while in Paris together, and again during their reunion in New York City. He was aware of Coralie's obsession with her, and would have been thrilled to find out Coralie was to perform with her.

But Coralie couldn't tell him; she couldn't tell any of them. They wouldn't have a clue of her upcoming success, of the gig of her dreams. She should have been able to inform them—but by her own doing, she'd had to alienate them all.

Instead, she texted Delilah that she had big news, and reminded Bella to meet her at the bar tonight for a huge announcement.

And before she concentrated on picking out the songs she'd perform at the show of her lifetime, she found the strength to stand up and grab her purse. From within its depths, she took out her notebook and jotted down, "Ryan was the first who came to mind when I wanted to share information about a big event."

What it meant, she had no idea; but she didn't have time to dwell on it. She had a gig at High Top to get ready for.

♥♥♥