A week had passed since our infamous I love you, let's move in together moment, but I still hadn't made up my mind on what I wanted to do. And in any case, I was too distracted to think about it.

Lively emailed me with interview information, and I became too preoccupied about wowing them over deciding whether to live with Leo.

As I tore through my wardrobe, dodging boxes of shoes and clothes that I hadn't yet bothered to unpack, I peered over at my phone that I'd set up near my mirror. Daphne's face stared back at me, waiting.

"So? Where is it?" She referred to a pencil skirt she'd let me borrow ages ago—before she'd lost weight, and we were the same size—and I'd been digging through my closet for the past five minutes searching for it.

I'd called her after getting off the phone with Leo, to tell her about the interview; and of course, she Face-timed me immediately to discuss outfits. The interview was tomorrow, but I couldn't put off looking for the perfect outfit, in case I needed to go shopping. Leo had insisted, but I'd promised him there was something in the depths of my mountains of clothes that would do. It was just an interview.

Just the interview that might change my career forever.

Lively was a start-up and becoming better known amongst New Yorkers. It started as a blog that interviewed inhabitants of all the New York neighborhoods about their fashion opinions and habits, but it was slowly expanding to other big U.S. cities. They were always on the hunt for more writers. I hadn't even thought to apply to them, but when their sister magazine referred me, I figured it'd be an opportunity.

When they emailed me, that opportunity came to life, and I panicked—what the fuck was I going to wear?

"I must have lost it in the move," I said, turning my back to the phone's screen to hide my flinching. In reality, I knew exactly where that skirt was—in a donation bin at some charity drop-off. I'd worn it once, and I never liked it much, unfortunately. And by the time I'd dropped it off with other discarded clothes, I forgot it didn't belong to me.

"You're distracted." Daphne's voice took its stern, almost motherly tone. "You're happy about this, aren't you? You scored this all on your own, big girl."

"I know." I twisted back to the screen, hands on my hips, nose scrunching. "But...it's not what's on my mind, at least, not all the time."

Daphne gagged, pulling the phone away from her face before rolling her eyes. "No, you're thinking of Leeeeeooo, of how many different positions you've already tried and how many more—"

"He told me he loved me. Basically." My cheeks heated. I hadn't mentioned this to her and holding it in for a week was hard enough. "And then asked me to move in with him. Or more like heavily encouraged it for practical reasons."

"Whoa." Daphne rubbed her chin. "Love, huh? And moving in?"

I blew out my cheeks. "It's crazy, isn't it? Way too soon, way too much, and—"

"—it's smart." She raised her eyebrows at my jaw dropping. "What? It is, at least I think so. For practical reasons, you said, right? Avoiding paparazzi and lengthy car rides and coordinating. I get it."

I gawked at her. How could she possibly be seeing this as smart? "It's intimidating. And way too fast. The love thing took me aback, but I mean...I'm obviously falling in love with him, so that was easy. But moving in?"

Daphne flicked her wrist at the screen. "No, seriously, he's right to ask. For those practical reasons, but also so you'll be closer to express your cutesy, gushy grossness. And for more of that," she wiggled her eyebrows and grinned, "super steamy and sexy sex. Gosh, I need more details of that shower shit you mentioned earlier—"

"—Daphne! Focus!" I smacked a fist into my palm. "I can't make decisions based on sex, no matter how good it is between us. This is an important choice that I need a real opinion on."

Daphne's face grew serious. "This is a real opinion. You two spend so much time together already, would it really change anything?"

"Well," I chewed on my lip, "I do spend most nights with him, and it's a hassle for him to get here, even with his private car service."

"Private car service," Daphne said, in an envious, borderline mocking tone. "You'd have access to that all the time, how convenient. But for real, Emma, consider it. It's a good idea."

"But isn't it too much?" I shrugged; I'd never lived with a significant other before and had no clue what the usual practices were. Didn't most people wait years before moving in together?

"It's not." Daphne approached her face to the screen and squinted, likely focused on her own image as she shoved a few vibrant red hairs from her forehead. "In any case, celebrities move a lot faster in the romance world. Those I've spoken to for my column, at least. It's not unusual for them to take things to the next level pretty quickly. And you, sweetheart," she offered a wide grin, "are a celebrity now, aren't you?"

"By extension." I stretched, then deflated, letting my stomach puff out and my shoulders droop forward. "I'd thought of that, too, the whole stars getting serious faster stuff. But I'm...ugh, I still don't know."

Daphne perceived my anxiety and waved her hand. "Fine, let's focus on this outfit, then. One thing at a time."

As I was about to plunge back into my clothes, the buzzer at my door rang. I wasn't expecting anyone. Leo was having alone time to write, so on instinct, I hung up with Daphne in case this would be a matter that required my full attention. Sometimes the doorman summoned me for packages—generally sent by Leo—and would take up time asking me questions about stardom and how to date a celebrity. It'd been funny, at first, but after a few weeks I wanted to give him the link to an online dating service and tell him to figure himself out.

To my surprise—more like utter shock—there was actually someone at the door, and the buzzing was my doorbell. I hadn't ever heard it until that moment, so when I peered through the peephole, expecting the worst, I froze.

The person at my door was far beyond unexpected.

Belle?

Leo's personal wardrobe assistant was there, at my door, shifting from foot to foot, arms crossed over her leather trench coat. Her dark curls were weaved into a messy bun, and her gaze moved from one end of the hallway to the other as she waited.

She lifted her hand, about to press the doorbell again, when I answered, certain that puzzlement was plastered all over my face. "Belle?"

Her chin jerked up and she straightened at the sight of me. "Emma." Her voice was neutral, but I registered her gaze roving over me in my tight-fitting leggings and baggy, off-the-shoulder sweater. "Can I come in?"

I studied her, one eyebrow arching as I gripped the doorframe. "Why are you here?" Not that I didn't appreciate her visit—as much as I was sure she despised me and my relationship with Leo, she was nice to look at. I hadn't seen her since the picture from the charity event, and I couldn't complain about her intoxicating but sexy presence.

Whatever perfume she wore wafted into my apartment, swirling into my nostrils—something spicy and exotic, jungle flowers and sharp leather. I detected a touch of coconut too, which I usually didn't like, but mixed with her natural aroma, it was enticing.

She glowered past me and into my studio. "Leo sent me to help you figure out what to wear for your interview. He said you refused to go shopping, and he was swamped with writing work, so," she spread her arms and flashed a fake smile, "here I am."

"I..." My mouth plopped open as she grew sick of waiting and pushed the door further to let herself in. "Um, okay, my room is that way, I guess," I said, gesturing towards the glass door separating my bedroom from the living room.

Belle's boots clacked on the hardwood floor as she removed her trench coat, letting it droop over the couch's armrests. She glanced around, getting a feel for the place, before nodding once and shimmying into my bedroom.

Something about her being in my bedroom gave me shivers.

Why did Leo do this? It was too much. I'd been able to dress myself fine before we met, and besides, I had a fashion expert already in Daphne. So what possessed him to send me his sneering but sensual dressing assistant, when he knew damn well how uncomfortable she made me?

Was it discomfort? Or was I put-off by how attracted to her I was?

To Leo, this was normal. Sharing his assistants with the woman he loved. He saw it as a kindness, I assumed. He didn't understand that I didn't grow up with all this privilege, and did many things for myself, on my own, without help. Of course, he didn't mean it as a slight, or as underestimating me; it was a gesture of love. He wanted me to look my best for this interview I'd scored on my own, and he was proud.

So, he sent me Belle, who knew her shit about outfits and body types, having proven that after dressing me for that red carpet. She'd done well; I still received compliments on that outfit, and I made sure to tell Leo to forward them to her.

By the time I joined her, she'd already torn through my clothes and tossed a few options on my bed. "You have some suitable pieces. We have something to work with," she said, in her gruff tone that jolted something in my stomach. Fuck, she sounded like she was about to spank me, and I almost, almost wanted her to.

It didn't surprise me that the clothing she'd chosen was all stuff Leo had bought me. Did she know? Did she have an eye for the kind of attire Leo would want me to wear?

I teetered at the edge of my room, and I must have been lost in thought or gaping at her, because she snapped at me, her fingers coming inches within my nose. "Hello? Did you hear me?" She motioned at the first ensemble—tight, leathery pants and a frilly red top—and then at my walk-in closet. "Put that on."

I snickered at the shade of the shirt. I hadn't paid it any attention when rummaging through my clothes with Daphne, because it wasn't my preferred shade, and Daphne knew that. If Belle knew, she didn't give a shit.

"What's with the red?" I agreed to pick up the pants, but pointed at the shirt, my nose wrinkling.

Belle's dark eyebrows inched upward. "You don't like red? What a shocker." She stormed to the bed, picked up the shirt, and jammed it into my chest. The brief friction of our arms gave me chills, but I focused on her angry face and ignored it. "It suits your skin tone and makes you look way more confident than you are."

I balked at her, blinking at her back-handed compliment. Or maybe it was an insult? "What makes you think I'm not confident?"

She winced as she scratched at her temple, unleashing a strand of her near-black hair in the process. I weirdly wanted to take that strand, to wrap it around my finger, and to tug it, tug her closer to me. What was it about this woman that made me want to take her and have my way with her? She was incredibly hot, more so now that she'd taken her coat off and revealed her skin-tight top tucked into high-waisted pants that accentuated her curvy figure.

All she did was brood, give me moody answers with a barking tone, and glare at me. And I wanted to see her naked the more she annoyed me.

No way is she into me. What the fuck is Leo thinking?

"You slouch a lot," she said, studying me from head to toe, not a hint of her true emotions in her obscure eyes. She wasn't frowning, but there was no pleasure in her demeanor, either. Was she forced to come here? Or had she volunteered? "And you wear a great deal of black, which is restricting, depressing, though it can be flattering in some situations. Sometimes pastels, which are cute and innocent and all, but for this you want to exude power. You're an independent woman who doesn't let anyone fuck her over, right?" She puckered her burgundy-tinted lips, and God, I wanted to slip my tongue past them and devour her. "Is that the image you're going for?"

Her words should have pierced through me, reminded me I needed an image, because I hadn't crafted one yet. I had no idea how I wanted to be perceived. Fierce? Cute? Temptress like her?

I chewed the insides of my cheeks and shrugged. "I don't know."

She softened slightly, though her stern scowl didn't leave my face. "Try it on. Trust me."

As much as I'd trusted her before, with the sleek dress she'd found that was magically tailored to my body, I wasn't as inclined to trust her here, with this choice. But that hardness in her gaze, and the way her body looked poised to pounce on me if I didn't obey her, I knew I wouldn't get away with not trying on this outfit.

I closed the closet door, but a figment of my naughty imagination envisioned her opening it and sliding into the darkened space with me. The overhead light flickered as I pictured her perfect silhouette approaching, as she licked her plump lips while eyeing me up and down, hungry for me. "Shh," she'd say, "let's not tell anyone."

As I removed my leggings, I found that my underwear was wet—way too wet for this to be just a passing fantasy. In truth, I hadn't had sex with a woman in so long, and I didn't even realize I craved it that badly. Leo kept me satisfied, and I had no reason to be driving myself into delirium for this woman. A woman who didn't want me back, never would, and even if she did, I couldn't sleep with her.

What was her issue? Leo was so adamant that she wasn't interested in him and liked women, so was she upset about me dating him because she felt protective? Maybe she didn't think I was good enough for him? Maybe it was a sisterly vibe that she had towards him, and she was judging me based on how out of left field I'd been?

"Hey," she knocked on the door, her voice irritated, "you almost done? How long does it take for you to change?"

That irritation flared a fire in my gut, and though I'd been about to retaliate, the door blasted open, allowing her entry.

"Fuck," I said, covering myself up, as I'd only been halfway done with buttoning up the shirt. Luckily I'd slipped the pants on. "I didn't say you could come in!"

She dismissed me with her wrist and approached from behind. My lit-up floor-to-ceiling mirror was in front of me, so I spotted her in the reflection, hovering. "I have other shit to do, and Leo is paying me for this, so hurry the hell up, would you?"

How I wanted to smack that pretty but foul mouth of hers with my own. To shut her up by driving my tongue into her. To find out if she tasted as spicy as she sounded.

"Here," she said, switching to my front, to help me get buttoned up faster. Her fingers grazed against the skin of my upper stomach, and I shivered at the soft contact. "There, that's better." Without a look at me, she returned to standing behind me, holding me still by grabbing the sides of my arms. "Well, I wouldn't call you fetching, but it's a start."

I rounded my eyes as I watched her in the mirror. "Gee, you're great with compliments, aren't you?"

She ignored me and backed away, to get a full view of me from the back. And though it was quick, I swore I caught her fixating a second too long on my ass and discreetly licking her lips.

Oh. Shit. Maybe Leo was right? It wasn't enough to go off; straight women had ogled my butt and complimented it before. This didn't mean anything—

"Spin," she snapped, her eyes back in place. I obeyed, and as I twisted, our gazes met. She walked closer, until our foreheads were inches apart. We were about the same height, so there was no way to dodge the connection except for turning away or ducking.

I couldn't move. She had me pinned with her presence alone.

"Is it...okay?" I gulped as I felt her breath blowing softly over me. A whiff of coffee and spice that made my mouth water. It took all my energy to not let my lips part to show her my tongue dancing with eagerness inside.

She reached out to touch one of the buttons, smack dab in the middle of my breasts. "Yeah, it should work." She trailed her finger towards my arm, dragging the tip right over my very erect nipple, but not pausing on it. My bra was thin, so there'd be no missing that fact. And when I noticed where her gaze rested—on that nipple—I clenched my jaw and prayed my legs wouldn't start shaking. "The other options are okay, but this one makes more of a statement." Her finger stopped on my other arm, and she pinched the fabric, tugging on it. "It's lightweight but could be see-through if it's sunny." She cleared her throat, finally detaching from the vision of my nipple. "Make sure you wear a black tank top underneath."

It was too much. If she touched me anywhere else, I'd lose it. I'd grab her finger and stick it in my mouth and twirl it around my tongue before sneaking it into my underwear so she'd know the effect she had on me.

Jeez, what was my problem? I wasn't a cheater, and though Leo and I hadn't quite defined our boundaries and exclusivity, I doubted he'd be okay with me fucking his wardrobe assistant in my closet, when he'd sent her to help me pick an outfit for an interview. He could be dirty-minded, but this? Unless he was around to watch, I didn't think he'd allow it.

Belle must have sensed the tension too—at last, fuck—because she slithered backwards and hurried to cover herself up with her arms. I hadn't stared at her that way, too busy being shocked by her brief but arousing touch on my arm. But now that she was drawing attention to herself, I realized she had quite the rack under that shirt. A rack I wouldn't mind seeing up close...

"Good, well..." She shuffled about; nothing like the powerful, hot bitch she'd been moments ago. "In that case, I should go. My work is done here."

I envisioned myself lunging forward to shove her against the wall and kiss her, but I wouldn't act on it. I wouldn't dare.

I let her walk out first, then followed in awkward silence as she plucked her coat from the couch and headed for the door.

"Thanks," I said, my voice hoarse as if I'd been screaming her name for hours. In my head, I certainly was.

"It's my job," she said, as I opened the door for her. She paused, but didn't turn around, and arched her spine. "See you around."

The moment she was gone, I closed the door, and unbuttoned my shirt. I threw it off, I threw all the clothes off, and meandered to my bed, completely naked.

"I can't do this," I said to myself as I slid under my covers, too aware of how aroused I still was. And I had to do something about that. "Not another love triangle. Never."

As I whispered that promise to myself, I crept my fingers into my drenched crevice and took care of business. If I masturbated to her, got her out of my head, I'd get over it.

Right?

♪♪♪