Cameron's text a few days later was brief, and mildly terrifying.

Cameron: Tomorrow night, the car will pick you up at six-thirty. We'll be having dinner with Leo. Does that work?

To answer too quickly would reveal my excitement; so I left him on "read" for a few minutes, gathering myself, reining in my eagerness.

I instant-messaged Daphne on our internal system, to inform her. Her response was near immediate.

DAPHNE: Are you serious??!??? Tomorrow??!? WHAT are you going to wear???

I giggled at her reply—typical—and typed up something for Cameron.

Me: Yes, that's fine. Is there a dress code, or is this casual?

I'd never met a celebrity before. I was supposed to, months ago, but he'd bailed. That time, I'd worn tight jeans, a low-cut top, and a bra that constricted my breathing; all hoping to impress him, seduce him. But what did one wear to a meeting with that same high-profile rockstar, that I was still ridiculously excited to meet, but while I was in a relationship?

Cameron: Casual is fine. We're eating at his townhouse, so nothing fancy.

His response was so flat, I wondered if I should say something sweet, something funny to perk him up, lighten the mood. Ever since the night he'd wobbled in drunk and dazed from Leo's place, confessing that it was time I met Leo and that I had no choice or say in the matter, he'd been distant. Not cold, not mean, but as if he were a turtle retreating into its shell. Subtly enough that others might not notice, but I did.

Should I have been worried? Did we not have a choice, like he said? Was there any way to delay this, or to ask Leo to take off some of the pressure and stop being so hard on Cameron?

I thought about this until the car picked me up, at six-thirty sharp. Cameron was inside, and offered me a weak smile as he beckoned me to sit next to him. He kissed my cheek, held my hand, but lacked the vigor and passion he usually had whenever he greeted me.

"Are you okay?" I fidgeted in my seat, my tight, fake-leather leggings itching my legs, and the long sleeves of my high-neck top wrapping around my arms. I'd opted for nothing too fancy or frilly, and no plunging neckline. As much as I'd once wanted Leo to notice me, now that I was with Cameron, it'd be preferable if he didn't pay attention to my best features: my boobs, my ass, and my curvaceous silhouette. Cameron was uncomfortable enough about this as it was.

"I'm not looking forward to this," he said, his hold on my hand loose, too loose.

I squeezed him. "It'll be okay. We'll keep it simple, yeah?"

He snorted. "There's nothing simple about Leo. Remember that, okay? Promise me."

"Promise you to remember?" I blinked at him, but his insistent eyebrow raise made me shrug. His eyes were darker than usual, and he'd dressed in ripped jeans and a t-shirt, looking like a disgruntled teenager being dragged to a dinner with his parents. Adorably disgruntled. "Okay, yes, I promise."

When the car pulled up at the curb of a several-stories high townhouse on a quiet, well-lit street in West Village, my jaw hit the floor.

The driver parked in a vacant spot by a wide sidewalk, near which a set of a dozen or so steps led up to a broad, brown front door.

"Will you be going through the front today, Sir?" The man glanced at Cameron in the rear-view mirror, one eyebrow raised.

Cameron nodded. "To give Emma the full experience, yes."

"There's another entrance?" I whispered, not wanting to sound like an idiot.

Cameron chuckled. "A back way, and an underground garage, yeah. For someone like Leo, with his notoriety, it's essential. But he wanted me to guide you through the front today, so you could see the entire house." The way he spoke, ready to roll his eyes, showed he didn't agree with what his boss had requested.

I hoped they'd show me this other entrance and the underground access route, too. Oh, the life of celebrities—what a world I was entering by dating Cameron. It was thrilling; even working at a high-end fashion magazine that interviewed stars, I'd never bumped into anyone of note before. Mr. Ivy was secretive about those who visited LuXe's headquarters, and Marshall was the only assistant who got to meet anyone famous. Me? Never. Not if he or Mr. Ivy had a say in it. Even Daphne had gotten the chance to speak with a few folk from show-business for her articles, but she'd been under NDA clauses and not allowed to introduce me to anyone.

Finally, it was my turn. Finally, I was meeting someone of worth—someone I'd admired and listened to for years.

As we exited the car, I gazed at the lofty windows covered by thick curtains on the inside. It was an isolated street, smaller than where I'd have expected a celebrity like him to live, but that meant less frequented or known by paparazzi. There were no flashing cameras here; if they knew he lived in this area, they weren't around that night.

Once up the stone steps, we paused at the big brown door. Cameron had a key, so he slid it into the ancient-looking keyhole, and we gained access.

Inside, a scent of roasting meat and incense met my nostrils. The lobby was as luxurious and fantastic as I'd have imagined. A gleaming chandelier dangled down from the high ceiling, illuminating a marble-tiled floor, and a circular staircase lining the right wall, leading up to a large balcony. To the left was an archway into a dark room; to the right was another hall.

"Whoa," I said, fixated on that hall, pretty sure I'd seen another entry door outside that would have led into it. "He owns two of the buildings?"

Cameron wiped his feet on the doormat, and hung his keys above the exquisitely polished commode. "Three, actually. On either side of this one. Those front doors are fake; he wanted to keep the aesthetic of this block intact. Leo loves New York City and loves this street."

My jaw ached from the constant dropping. Three buildings in one—that was his townhouse? It wasn't a townhouse, it was a freaking mansion.

"There you are," came a voice from a corridor straight across from us; one I hadn't noticed because it was tucked under the spiraling staircase.

There he was: Leo Lee. Lead singer of SMASH. Crooner of my heart. Rockstar of my dreams.

He waltzed into the entryway barefoot, wearing loose-fitting jeans that somehow still showed off his smashing figure. His white t-shirt was tight, outlining his defined pectoral muscles and his packed abs. His dark blond hair was glossy, sparkling as he brushed his fingers through it and flashed me a smile that made my knees weak.

"Hi," he said, walking up to me and extending his hand. He was tall; an inch or two more than Cameron. "I'm Leo."

I caught myself before I said duh, and offered my hand, hoping he wouldn't notice how it shook. "H-hi, I'm Emma." It was hard to keep my chin up to maintain his gaze.

"Emma, right. Emmaline is your full name?" His eyes were so bright, so filled with stars, so gorgeous that I wanted to drown in them. A perfect mix of brown and blue and green, with hints of yellow, outlined in gray. If I looked for too long, I'd notice every color of the rainbow.

"Yeah. Yes," I said, letting go of his hand, realizing I'd been squeezing it too tight. "I prefer Emma, though."

If I'd made him uncomfortable, he didn't show it. He removed his hand from mine as he turned to Cameron. "Yes, of course. Cam," he patted his friend and personal assistant's back, "told me all about you the other night, eh?"

I peeked at Cameron, who flushed. That explained why he was with Leo for so long, and why he was so trashed when he got home.

Talking about girls.

"Am I getting a whiff of Nikky's famous beef?" Cameron bypassed Leo and started to head down the lit-up hallway to the right. "Is it dinner time?"

Leo ignored him and swept an arm around me. "Hey, where's the rush? He's still finishing up the appetizers. How about a tour?" He didn't wait for Cameron's approval, and tugged me along to the doorway he'd come from.

He smelled like roses. Like roses and chocolate and dessert. Like something sweet and indulgent that I'd want to lick until it melted in my mouth—

"Nikky is my cook, by the way," he said, his mouth close to my ear; too close for someone who'd just met me. But how could I pull away, how could I stop him, when this was something I'd always dreamed of? "I hope you weren't expecting a home-cooked meal by me, because I'd blow the house up. Cam, though..." With his free hand he gestured at Cameron, who was sulking behind us. "He's an excellent cook, which I'm sure you know."

"She knows," said Cameron, sounding grumpy. "Is this necessary? Can't we go wait in the living room?"

I balked; wasn't that where Leo was leading me? How many rooms did this place have?

"No, my friend." Leo let go of me and flipped on a switch, revealing that we'd entered a vast room with a giant TV screen on the far wall. "Emma is meeting me tonight, which means she needs to meet my house, too. You know the rules."

I couldn't see Cameron's face but I knew he was grimacing and huffing under his breath.

This was the movie-screening room, Leo said. Then he showed me his recording studio, which was underground, adjacent to the five car garage in which he had not one, but two Lamborghinis parked—one blue, one red. I tried to control my salivating as he guided me to his personal library and the cozy reading nook attached to it.

Everything was elegant, with touches of luxury that didn't fly into your face, but they were there. Large paintings above leathery chairs, golden door-frames, exquisite views from the upper floors, glowing crown-molding. The stairs were so intricate, like porcelain, and climbing them gave me anxiety. He owned sculptures that I was afraid of even looking at, worried they might shatter. He had exclusive artwork and framed gold-plated records. One wall of his office was covered in pictures of his favorite lyrics that he'd written, as well as portraits of his favorite singers, his influences, and his friends.

Was this guy a billionaire rockstar? It'd make sense; he was wildly successful, incredibly talented, traveled around the world for booked-up tours with SMASH, had multiple clothing lines in his name and a few perfumes, and owned several high-class sports cars. His family came from wealth, too—his parents were world-renowned music producers and instrument-playing geniuses.

I peered down at my boring leggings and underwhelming floral shirt, and side-glanced at Cameron. Why would he tell me this was casual when Leo was anything but casual? Yes, he'd worn a plain outfit himself, but everything around us was upscale and so beautiful I feared breathing too hard would break something. Should I have been wearing a shimmering, skin-tight ball gown instead?

We entered the kitchen, but I remained at the threshold, taking in the pristine, sleek gray color scheme, the super-upgraded appliances, the cabinets with glass windows and dishes organized by size and type and shade. A young man with long, silky black hair tied in a ponytail busied about in front of the oven, stirring something in a pot and throwing in spices.

"That's Nikky," Leo whispered in my ear, "but he doesn't like to be disturbed while he's working on his masterpieces, so let's go settle in the living room."

We didn't get a chance to see Nikky's face before Leo dragged me—and Cameron, still trailing behind us—into a black and white themed living room, complete with lounge-chairs, plush couches, and a coffee table with an array of magazines and potted plants along its glass-top surface. Black bookcases lined the walls, and a huge screen TV—a smidgen smaller than the one in the screening room—hung across from the main sofa.

Leo deposited me on said sofa, made of black velvet. Cameron immediately settled beside me, cornering me near the edge—as if to ensure Leo didn't sit next to me.

"Drinks?" Leo wandered over to a black-painted hutch and opened it, exposing all sorts of colorful bottles of liquor and fancy martini glasses. "I can't cook, but I make a mean cocktail."

Cameron grunted. "That's true. I think I'm still hungover from the other night," he said, directing his words to me.

I was too nervous to drink a blended cocktail, so I asked him if he had a soft red wine or a rosé.

"Ah, a wine girl," Leo nodded in approval, "I'll be right back."

The instant he was gone, I twisted to Cameron, my eyes widening. "You didn't tell me it'd be this fancy."

Cameron chuckled. "It's not. This is his home-base, meant for comfort. But if you ever go to his penthouse, you'll understand what fancy is."

"Penthouse? And two Lambos? He's richer than I thought." I crossed my legs at the ankles, hoping my jittering wouldn't be too noticeable.

And yet...Leo himself wasn't intimidating. He was warm, friendly, albeit a bit too touchy for my liking. But this was his home, and he was in his element; I didn't want to disrupt that. Plus, every time he spoke directly to me or touched my arm or muttered in my ear, I got chills. He smelled so divine, his skin was so soft, and he had the most charming, impeccable smile I'd ever seen.

I'd expected that meeting a celebrity up close would shatter all my dreams. I'd anticipated that Leo would be dull or rude, that he'd look nothing like his pictures, proving everything was photoshopped nowadays. But no—Leo was a copy of the images I'd seen in magazines, as if he'd been printed out in 3D. And though I'd watched him from afar at his concert, face-to-face, he was even better.

He returned with a glass of rosé for me, a bottle of imported beer for Cameron, and then got busy making himself a very complicated cocktail. Drink in hand—with a multicolor umbrella dipped into the liquid—he sat on the couch opposite me, sighed, took a sip of his drink, then fixed his gorgeous gaze on mine.

"So, Emma." He motioned at the coffee-table laden with magazines. "Cam tells me you work for a magazine, but he wouldn't tell me which one. Something about you usually not wanting anyone to know? But," he grinned, "I'm me, and you can tell me anything. It won't leave this room."

My cheeks grew hot. I glanced at the magazines, and spotted mine, so I picked it up. "This one."

Leo's eyebrows drew up and he shot a look at Cameron. "LuXe?" He reverted to me. "And you're a personal assistant? Oh, God," he blinked at me in bewilderment, "you work for Ivy?"

Mr. Ivy's reputation got around. "I do."

"And this is the one I canceled on?" He peered at Cameron again, who nodded. "Fuck. I'm such a dick. If you work for Ivy...his assistants are notoriously underpaid, aren't they?" Again, Cameron nodded. "Shit. Emma." He hopped off his seat and launched forward, kneeling at my feet. "I'm so, so sorry. We refunded her, right?" He checked with Cameron, who was probably getting sick of nodding. "Thank goodness."

"Dude." Cameron waved at him, implying he should get out of my personal space. "She's fine. She forgave you ages ago. You're Leo Lee, for fucks' sake." His voice wasn't rude, but I sensed him tensing beside me.

I set my hand on his thigh, hoping he'd relax. What was his issue?

"I wish she didn't have to forgive me." Leo cozied up in his seat, taking tiny sips of his drink. When Cameron groaned, Leo winked at me; the gesture stopped my heart, then jump-started it. I was having trouble breathing.

Why did he have such an effect on me? He was a human man. A hot one, for sure, but not a god, not an alien. He was charming, in an overwhelming, in-your-face kind of way, yet it was cute. His touchy-feely vibe should have bothered me, but I was more and more intrigued by him as he asked me questions about myself, my life, my background.

He was interested. Unlike most self-absorbed assholes—which I realized he wasn't—he didn't interrupt me to say something about himself. He didn't fake his reactions or pretend to care; because he did care, I could tell.

The rumor of him being genuine is true.

When we reached the dinner table, I felt like I'd gotten to know Leo through his expressions and his body language. He was an open guy, with little restraint and no filter, sarcastic and borderline crude, but funny.

He pulled out my chair for me—pushing Cameron out of the way to do so—and he indulged me gushing over my favorite songs that he wrote. He was attentive to details, remembered things I'd said hours prior, and constantly apologized for me having to work for Mr. Ivy.

Throughout the evening, Cameron grew quieter and quieter. He went from scolding Leo when he tried to get too personal, to barely opening his mouth and letting out a scoff or a grunt. He'd been fidgety at first, especially when Leo got too physically close to me. But by the time we were heading out the door, and Leo kissed both my cheeks, "like the French do", Cameron was stoic like a brick wall.

We'd need to talk about it the second we got into the car. I'd met Leo Lee and adored him, and he'd adored me—but Cameron hadn't adored any of it.

♪♪♪