In the weeks that followed, I got to work. I used Leo's influence to sneak into a few Fall fashion shows and take a few snaps of the outfits I loved, those I hated. I traveled to areas of the city I didn't usually go to—desperate to avoid paparazzi—and observed the people in their daily mundane tasks. From joggers to the homeless to the ritzy uptowners in their overpriced vehicles, rolling their windows down to sneer at passersby.

A few times I planted inside cafés wearing a low-brimmed hat that covered my face. If anything, I looked like a paparazzi, and it helped me blend in and be avoided by others. Only once or twice was I recognized, but those who knew who I was kept my identity a secret.

And whatever time I wasn't with Leo or out scouting the streets for a fashion-related story, I was typing away on my computer. I had all kinds of fancy software to edit photos, and had built myself a website to showcase all my snapshots and opinions. I'd written a few blog posts, shared a few trends I'd noticed developing, and even filmed some funny videos of me digging through my treasure-filled closet to show everyone all the amazing clothes Leo had bought me.

My social media accounts had already blown up with my recent popularity, but when I shared my website, my follower base grew again. I'd reached somewhere near fifteen thousand followers, and couldn't believe my eyes when I realized a good portion of them followed me...for me. Not because I was dating Leo, but because I had influential value in the fashion world. They loved my videos, they appreciated my advice and comments, and they started buying outfits based on my opinions.

Not that I wanted to be in any spotlight—I wanted to write—but it was nice to be noticed, nice to see I could make a name for myself on my own.

I only started getting downright excited when an anonymous follower forwarded me a link to submit to an online fashion magazine. It wasn't anything prestigious—similar to LuXe, but with better business practices—but it'd be a foot in the door, and I couldn't pass up the opportunity. I sent over my resume, my portfolio, a few samples of my blog posts, and kept my fingers crossed so hard they hurt.

I didn't tell Leo about it; I wouldn't until I knew for sure I'd been rejected, or, by some miracle, accepted.

A week passed, and I buried myself in work because there was no guarantee. And I couldn't quit updating my followers and writing more articles on my website to sustain them. But one fine morning—after a night of sleeping alone, because Leo had important rehearsals and didn't want to be distracted by me—I woke to an email that had me jumping out of bed so quickly I nearly snapped my ankle.

"Dear Emmaline Simmons," I read aloud, shakily scrolling through the response. Most places didn't bother to send you an email unless you'd been accepted. Some were nice enough to compose rejection letters, and some sent automated thanks for trying type messages. But this answer was personalized, dedicated. "We thank you for your submission, and while we highly enjoy your content, we don't think it's suitable for our audience."

I shrank, frowning. Obviously I'd prepared for this; it'd be magical to be accepted at the first publication I submitted to, and I'd fantasized over that, but I wasn't an idiot. I knew better than to keep my hopes up.

But the email wasn't finished.

"However, we forwarded all your information over to our sister review, Lively, and we believe they'll be a better fit for you. Their editors have reviewed your content, and are definitely interested in speaking with you. They'll reach out to you shortly to set up an interview." I squealed and dropped my phone; to my luck, it didn't shatter on the floor but fell on the bed.

"I got an interview?" Jumping up and down, I flurried around the bed, cheering and clapping, proud of myself. Proud of my work ethic. Proud of having done it on my own.

One interview meant nothing, but it was a start. I had to tell Leo.

He was at his rehearsal—preparing some new solo tracks, from what he'd told me; he was super secretive about his songs, even with me. I texted him anyway, warning him I had news and I was coming over.

He replied when I was halfway out the door, telling me he'd send his car for me; but it was too late. I'd make my own way over. I'd brave the outside world for this, to inform him I'd done it, I'd done it.

I was so, so wrong.

Knowing better than to try my hand at taking the subway—been there, done that, and I didn't advise it when paparazzi were on your tail—I pulled up my ride-share apps. But there were no cars in the vicinity, somehow, at least none that would get me to Leo's in a rapid manner. I couldn't stand out there in front of my apartment building waiting for them; the longer I was exposed, the more dangerous my situation.

A flash of yellow zoomed by, and I recoiled, realizing what my only option would be—a good old NYC taxi-cab. I normally avoided them, and Leo once told me never to get in a cab while I was dating him, but...I was desperate. I had to get to him, I had to share my great news, and I had to do it immediately. I had no inkling why I was in such a hurry; maybe to prove I didn't need help, to show him how independent I was. Independence was sexy, right?

Another cab flew by, but this one stopped right at the curb. I took my chances and hurried forward, tapping on the window. It rolled down, and though I had a hoodie on, the man recognized me.

"It's you!" He was an older man, wrinkled skin and tired eyes, but he brightened at the sight of me. "This is where you live?"

I groaned as I rolled my eyes and got into his car. "I'll pay you a shit-ton to not say a word. I need to get to lower Manhattan." Never would I reveal Leo's address—that'd be a rookie move. But hopefully I could get close enough to his location, then sneak around until I found some way to get into his house without anyone seeing me.

I already knew how impossible it sounded. His private cars always dropped us off by going through his hidden back entrance that led to his underground garage. It was a carefully constructed set-up that no one had ever figured out, and he'd spent years in peaceful bliss knowing no one had any idea where he lived.

Was I about to ruin that for him in my eagerness?

It was too late to back down; the cab driver's engine roared as he sped away from my building, headed towards West Village, as I'd indicated. He rambled on and on about Leo, how much his grandkids loved his music, how many concerts he'd paid for them to see, how many times they'd begged to know if he'd ever had Leo in his cab.

I gritted my teeth and nodded now and then. And, sticking to my word, I left him a good wad of extra cash when he deposited me at a corner a few streets down from Leo's townhouse.

I drew my hoodie further down. It was a cloudy, chilly autumn afternoon, meaning there weren't too many people out. And being in the middle of the week, kids were at school, adults were at work.

Still, this was the tough part. Getting to Leo's without drawing anyone to Leo. No matter how many times I'd gone through that secret entrance, I had no clue how to access it on foot. Nor if the security team would even let me in—it wasn't designed for pedestrians.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and pretended to be a random wanderer, admiring the brownstones as I passed them, but keeping my head down, my paces light. I didn't want to appear suspicious, either; dressed as I was, in dark leggings and a dark sweater, I surely looked a bit ominous. But it was that or flash my face to anyone around, and be attacked.

I could have sworn I heard the click of a camera, and it prompted me into gear. I ran, not too sure where to, rounding corners, shifting sideways to avoid other pedestrians. When I finally stopped, I was breathless, and praying I'd looked like a jogger on a sprint and not some madwoman running away from imaginary demons.

As I straightened up—I'd been kneeling to catch my breath—a hand wrapped around my arm and wrenched me into an obscure alleyway. I cramped up, panicked; in all my haste, I hadn't even thought to bring anything remotely weapon-like with me. In my backpack were my purse things, and a few stay-over items for Leo's, chargers, makeup; nothing I could use to stab whoever had grabbed me. Nor would I have time to take my bag off to even look through it.

When I jerked around to face my attacker, I froze.

It was Nicky, Leo's chef. His gray-blue eyes were zoned in on me, and his lithe limbs were tense, his stance widened. I rarely interacted with him aside from to tell him his food was delicious, but I'd recognize him anywhere. He had the airs of a French chef straight out of culinary school, complete with a wispy mustache and that constant angry look on his face.

"What the fuck?" I whispered, not sure what he was doing around here, and why he'd yanked me away from the sidewalk.

He arched a dark eyebrow. "I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing?"

"I'm..." I bit my lip, feeling like an absolute idiot. "Well, I was coming over to meet with Leo, and I didn't want to wait for his car service, so I took a cab, and I had it drop me off a few streets down, but then I realized I had no idea how I'd get in, and..." My voice cut out, my breathing too ragged to continue.

Nicky chuckled, getting out his phone. "I see." He typed something on the screen, then took my wrist and tugged me deeper into the alleyway. "Let's get you inside then, yeah?"

"Wait." I resisted him, narrowing my gaze. "Inside? Where?"

Nicky scoffed. "Leo's house? Isn't that where you were going?" I nodded. "Great, me too. And I happen to know the back entrance, since it's the way I come and go."

I only then noticed he'd been holding a grocery bag full of goods—of course, he was out gathering food for today's meals. Nicky was picky about his ingredients, Leo had told me, and preferred to shop for them himself, and locally. So, naturally, he'd know how to come and go from Leo's house without being spotted. Anyone in Leo's staff would.

"My savior," I said, relaxing in his grip as he dragged me to the end of the alleyway, then ducked into another, narrower one. He only stopped once we'd reached a nondescript door that almost blended into the brick building to our right.

He punched in a code on a keypad that had been hidden in the wall, and the door unlocked. "Don't tell a soul. Don't even tell Leo."

He guided me down steep metal steps, then down a winding hallway, before we erupted in the garage proper, facing one of Leo's Lambos. From here, I knew where to go, so Nicky scampered to his basement pantry to deposit his supplies and left me to fend for myself, again making me swear to forget the door.

I'd already forgotten, because of my hasty run. I wouldn't remember the street or the alleys for the life of me.

I took the steps two at a time, and arrived on the ground floor landing, under the stairs. A decadent scent of flowery incense reached my nostrils as I removed my hood and sighed, slinking against the wall as I allowed my heart to finally slow down.

"There you are," came Leo's voice from the main stairs. I saw his hand squeezing the banister first. His footsteps were hurried. He appeared, his hair messy, scruff along his jaw, his eyes widening all over me. "You okay? Nicky texted and said he found you nearby in a frenzy."

I lowered my chin and studied my shoes, covered in dust and dirt from my frantic run. "I, uh, might have gotten a little shaky and lost."

He approached me and drew my chin back up. I'd expected him to be mad at me, but his face was soft, his eyes kind. He smelled like coffee and cinnamon, and tasted even more so when he kissed me. "Why didn't you wait for the car service?"

"I was, uh," I winced, "I have no idea. Too impatient, I guess." My cheeks overheated and I tried to look down again, but he wouldn't release my chin. "I got an interview with Lively, not sure if you heard of them..."

"Name rings a bell." His thumb brushed near my lips. "Start-up online magazine that interviews people on the street about fashion, or something?" I nodded and he smiled. "Well, congrats. That's great news. And that's why you rushed across town and risked your life?"

I managed to get my chin to dip, forcing him to remove his grip on it. "I'm sorry. The excitement got to me, and I..."

"Hey," he placed a finger under my chin and forced it back up, "you're not in trouble. In fact," he tugged his lip between his teeth as he slowly unzipped my hoodie, "I'm turned on by how flustered you are right now."

My heart skipped a beat as he opened my sweatshirt to reveal the slinky spaghetti strap top I'd thrown on, barely covering up my bra. All the activity had displaced my clothing. He passed his thumb over the exposed skin and licked his lip, all puffed up from having bitten it.

Puffed up and tantalizing; I wanted to bite it, too.

He removed the hoodie and cupped my shoulders as he yanked me close, pressing into him. He kissed me, his tongue wet and wondering as it prodded into my mouth and captured my breath. The fervor, the fiery force of his kiss disposed of all my worries, all my doubts about my stupid, reckless trek to get here.

Within minutes, he'd carried me upstairs to his room and discarded the rest of my clothes. He remained clothed as he arranged me on the bed, spread my legs, and got straight to work on my clit. I was dripping wet for him, almost on command, and just from a few words and a couple of luscious kisses. It was all I needed to unravel myself, to come undone; his presence, his voice, his need.

I screamed his name as I came, after he'd been lathering my clit with attention and dipping his fingers into my wetness. Moments later, he shrugged off his shirt and jeans, basically ripped off his boxers, and rolled a condom onto his length, stroking himself as he watched me get into position to accept his girth inside me.

He thrusted, and I let out a delightful moan. He picked up the rhythm, not intending this to be a lengthy session; he wanted me, and he wanted me fast. I matched his cadence, shifting my hips when he shifted his, widening my thighs as he pushed deep, deeper inside me. His breaths blew over my nipples, hardening them, and he slowed down long enough to grace them with a few flicks of his tongue, shooting shivers down my legs.

"Fuck," he said, his hands on either side of my arms as he hovered over me, ramming harder and harder. "You feel so fucking good when you're all ruffled up."

And he felt like bliss. A violent, perilous sensation of pure pleasure shocked through me, sending me on wave after wave of orgasms. When he came, he shuddered, his cock throbbing inside me as he indulged in his release.

He rolled off me, then removed the condom and cleaned up, giving me space to do the same for myself. When he returned from his en-suite bathroom, I expected him to get dressed and return to work, but instead he pulled the covers open and we slid in to cuddle.

"Are you really okay?" He pressed me to his chest, and I could have sworn I felt his heart beating against me. "Traveling all the way from northern Manhattan like that...let me guess, you took a cab?"

I cringed, but my back was to him, so he wouldn't see it. "Yeah...I was in such a mad rush, and I have no clue why."

He set his chin on my shoulder and I felt him smiling. "Because you wanted to see me. To share your good news with me. Because you care."

I wanted to nudge him with my elbow and ask him to stop being so cheesy, but I couldn't deny it was true. When I'd gotten that email, he was the first person I thought of. Not even Cameron, to my surprise; not Daphne, not anyone else. Leo was on my mind, always.

He fidgeted behind me. "You...don't care?"

"Huh?" I twisted my neck to view him. "What makes you say that?"

"You didn't answer right away, so I assumed..."

"I do care. A lot. I was deep in thought, that's all. I care about you quite a bit, Leo Lee."

I sensed the warmth flaring up his cheeks. "How much?"

That startled me. I couldn't tell what he wanted me to answer; that I was falling for him? That I had fallen for him? I hadn't had a chance to figure that out. We'd been on this tumultuous ride for months, and recently it had gotten more serious than anything I'd ever experienced. Even with Cameron.

"I ask because," his chest expanded into my back as he took a deep breath, "I care about you quite a bit, too. I..." He gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing over my shoulder, "I think I'm in love with you, Emma. And I think I have been for a while, but I...I've never felt it this way before."

I spun to face him, to plunge my gaze into his. Was it too soon to say it? Did I feel it?

My words escaped me before I could control them. "I think I'm in love with you, Leo."

He lit up, his smile spreading across the entire lower half of his face. "Good." His hands traveled to my low back, holding me closer, and his lips fluttered against the tip of my nose. "Then I think it's time we take another big step."

"Another big step?" My eyebrows lurched upward. "We basically said I love you, so what comes next?"

"I don't want you rushing across town every day to see me. And I can't constantly come to you, up there." He inhaled, then exhaled a heavy breath over my face. "I have a simple solution. It would fix a lot of issues. Move in with me. Live here."

I pulled back, analyzing his face. Oh, he was serious. His eyes were like stone, his smile still stuck in place, but everything about his body language, the way he held me, said he wasn't joking about this.

"What?"

His smile became a smirk. "Wouldn't it help? You'd be closer to magazines—they're all in the lower half of Manhattan, aren't they? And closer to me. At all times. We could fuck like this daily, without having to deal with traffic and paparazzi."

It was fast, too fast. We'd only known each other for a few months, and officially dating for about one month, and he'd just bought me an apartment, for crying out loud. Now he wanted me to ditch that, say I love you to him, and move in? Why the rush?

He's a rockstar; they move fast in the celebrity world, don't they?

My lungs tightened and something jumped in my belly. It was a lot, and yet...I had no hunches that it was wrong. Nothing was stopping me. Nothing nudged at me, telling me to proceed with caution. And it would be advantageous to live with him; closer to the fashion world, closer to him, like he'd said...

But it was a tremendous step, and to decide now, on a whim, on a high from perfect sex, would be foolish.

"I appreciate the offer," I said, leaving a tiny kiss on his lips, "and I'll think about it."

If he was put-off by my hesitation, he didn't show it, and instead grasped my wrist, insisting we take a nice, steamy shower together. Steamy because of all the naughty things he wanted to do to me, to celebrate our love.

I wouldn't refuse.

♪♪♪