Being in Petra's office made me feel a little less cloistered, giving a little more breathing room. It was a small, over-packed space with clutter everywhere and a general tidy mess vibe that an OCD person might insist made sense to them.

But being holed up in Leo's house—our house—I'd gotten jittery, developing a need for space, for air. Not that he was clingy or in my face. If anything, we saw each other less since I moved in, as he was always busy writing or rehearsing, and I was slammed with research and composing articles to send to online magazines that kept refusing me. It was the fact that I couldn't get out without being hounded that bothered me the most.

The paparazzi were zeroing in on Leo's location, his security team told us, a few weeks after my move-in. Not the street or the house itself, but the vicinity. Which meant they were often on the prowl, and it'd be dangerous to venture out unless in one of the service cars, and coming from the secret garage. That meant my sneaking out for coffee with Daphne was over; unless I had a driver drop me off at an agreed-upon spot where we knew the reporters weren't loitering waiting for a story. So I'd remain inside at all times, protected.

And I needed the protection. Leo and I's relationship continued to be blasted all over the media—the good and the bad—whether we were out and about showing ourselves, or not. Since that charity event, we hadn't been seen much in the same place. That foul-mouthed, flimsy journalist, Stewart Sfuria, assumed he was right about us, and we weren't really together. He posted a new story every week, and every time, it was about us.

Didn't he have anything better to report? There were plenty of other celebrities out there he could insult, some of which deserved the insult. Leo and I didn't.

When I thought things couldn't get worse, Sfuria threw out a tale that we were seeing other people. He had a snapshot, obviously fake, of me creeping out of someone's apartment, with that someone holding my hand. And one of Leo exiting a car while speaking to someone else inside who wasn't me. Both pictures were, as Leo and I knew, false. Neither of us had left the town-house in the past few weeks.

But after that article, Petra summoned us to her. She insisted we visit her Financial District office; a narrow, cramped space at the end of a hall of a bunch of other talent managers, all of whom watched us walk by with stars in their eyes. They were jealous. Petra, the tiny, outspoken lady who bounced on the balls of her feet and seemed way too friendly to negotiate big time contracts, managed Leo Lee. She managed the superstar of superstars, god of rockstars, billionaire boy-toy whose commission rates were out the roof.

"It's serious," said Petra, as we settled at her desk, a whiff of strong incense seeping into our nostrils. Leo seemed used to it, unfazed; I wrinkled my nose and tried to adjust to it. "That dude's fake ideas are spreading. Slowly, but they're spreading, friends, and it's not good."

I tried not to roll my eyes and blurt out I told you so, figuring it wasn't my place to express that I'd warned her about this guy a while ago. Now his threats and gossip were taking hold, and some were starting to believe it.

"Okay, but you've confined us to my house to protect my location, so what are we supposed to do?" Leo was way more relaxed than me, much more used to using his special car service to navigate town. I'd been gritting my teeth as we pulled out of the garage, having developed a sudden fear of the outdoors, despite being desperate for outdoor air. He stretched in his seat, his long legs extending under the desk. "I don't like what this guy is saying, either, but if not him, someone else will, right?"

Petra cocked her head side to side, weighing his words. "Maybe." She stopped, then zeroed in on him, her normally bubbly eyes stern. "But regardless, it'll look better for your image," she winced at me, "both of your images if you ramp up the public appearances. And when you do, bring on the PDA. No holding back; be gross about it. And then keep talking about how you've moved in together and are helplessly in love, if any interviewers ask."

She was asking us to shove our tongues down each other's throats any time we appeared at an event, and boast about living together. And while I didn't mind soft PDA for the most part, this was a lot. Not his style, not mine.

"Why is he so focused on us?" Leo's eyebrows scrunched, but that was the only sign of any stress he might have been holding in. He'd worn loose-fitting jeans with holes in strategic places, an obscure band t-shirt, and dirty sneakers. If one ignored his gorgeous, glowing face, one might think he was some random guy plucked off the street for skateboarding in an illegal spot. "With all the other celeb drama going on out there, he's a bit obsessed, don't you think?"

"He may have a grudge, who knows?" Petra scribbled something on a piece of paper. "Could also have someone paying him to write this shit. It's not like you don't have any enemies," she narrowed her gaze on Leo, "but I didn't think any of them would stoop this low."

Enemies? I never knew anyone would hate Leo. I didn't think it was possible. He could be overbearing, sure, and he tossed his money all over without a care, but he had a kind heart. He never said a mean word in the press, and all his songs were loved by a majority of the punk-rock world.

Petra sighed, dragging a hand down her face, smearing her mascara; she didn't seem to notice or care. "For Sfuria to post so frequently...he's getting almost a million views, and that's worrying." She grabbed a flier from a file holder and pushed it in front of us. "Go to one of these things; I'm sure I can secure you an invitation."

I leaned in close—it was a show for a local rock-band that had been in dire need of Leo's sponsorship. The Blurry. I'd heard of them. Their style mixed with Leo's and some more contemporary pieces, and their vibe was a nineties-like pop-punk. Pleasant and fun to listen to. I'd downloaded a few of their songs.

"I wouldn't mind seeing them," I said in a softer timbre, not sure if it was up to me to go to this thing, or Leo. But when he looked at me and flashed a weak smile with a nod, I realized my opinion mattered, too.

"Great. That's settled." Petra typed on her computer with the vivacity of a highly strung secretary. "Go, grab each other's asses a few times in plain sight. A few gag-worthy kisses, maybe look like you're about to do each other in a dark corner, and that should feed the media for a few weeks."

The image made me want to gag, but Petra was, in truth, the real boss. Leo was stubborn and insisted on having a say in everything, but if Petra ordered it, he'd do it.

Petra rambled on about interviewing assistants to replace Cameron, and when she said his name, it triggered me. I re-imagined our bump-in the other day, and Cameron's desperation to talk to me, to get me to be friends with him. I'd sworn I wouldn't forgive him...and then a few days later, that picture of us surfaced in the media. Not from Sfuria, for once, but from a similar review that enjoyed breaking celebrities up.

There was no way we'd been caught hugging like that. The patrons in the coffee-shop had left us alone, and I'd been watching them closely in my paranoia. Whoever snapped that picture of Cameron and I, at that specific angle...

Had they been working for Cameron? Was he the one trying to sabotage us? Petra mentioned someone paying this awful man to write about us; and while Cameron wasn't as wealthy as Leo, he did have some money saved up. But would he use it all to ruin the man who'd once been his best friend? And me, in the process?

Why?

"...and there were a few of them I liked, so we'll send them over to meet you both." Petra typed up something on her computer. "I'll forward you their names and check your schedule to see when it'd be best to meet them. Now that the move-in is complete..."

The word move-in brought me back to the day Leo's team showed up at my doorstep and hefted all my shit across town. One of his bodyguards, one of his sound guys, two men I didn't know but had seen around his house before, and Belle.

Belle. Where was she? I hadn't noticed her since that brief glare she sent my way as she carried my boxes of packed clothes out of my studio. And I hadn't forgotten that moment in my closet, when she'd come to help me dress for my interview. The proximity, the scent of her, the feel of her...it had me dreaming about her several nights in a row.

I hadn't told Leo about it, and I wouldn't. One, because he was absolutely the jealous type—which Cameron had all but confirmed for me—and two, because I didn't want Belle to get in trouble. Infuriating as she was, she was good at her job, and valuable. And last time I brought up Belle, Leo rolled his eyes and reminded me she wasn't after him, and though she was into women, she wouldn't dare come after me. Yet he insisted she was into me; that all her grimaces translated as "yes, I want to fuck Emma."

After our encounter in my closet, I started to believe he might have been right.

"Oh, and one more thing." Petra sat up straight and gulped, joining her shaky hands atop the desk. "I was contacted by the manager of another high-profile rockstar."

Leo's relaxed demeanor shifted as he angled forward, staring at her. "Who?"

Petra gulped again. "Sapphire."

My heart skipped a beat.

Sapphire?

I knew of her, had even listened to her music many times, though I'd never admit it to Leo. Her name was off limits in his house, or so he'd told me when he once caught me bobbing my head to one of her songs as it popped up on my playlist while researching.

Sapphire was trendy. A super up-and-coming pop-rock singer that everyone was in love with, and whose lyrics were on everyone's tongue. She was gorgeous, first off; dark skin, beautiful hair, always a bright smile on her face, and a voice that soothed even the angriest of jerks. She played almost every possible instrument, though her choice leaned towards the electric guitar—she owned a vibrant purple one that was her signature. And she was killer with her melodies. Some called her a modern day, female version of Prince.

Leo closed up so fast I could have sworn I heard his shell slam shut with a crash. "What does she want?"

"Her manager," Petra blew out a trembling breath, "is interested in setting up a duet between the two of you."

I watched as Leo's cheeks infused with red, and understood why Petra was approaching this with caution, possibly with fear.

Leo didn't like Sapphire. He had no reason to—they had no beef, they'd never even met. But she irked him, I could tell. She was out there, her style more eccentric than his though she tended to please the same audience. Any time she was in the news or featured on social media as he scrolled past, he flinched. He snarled. Something about the woman bothered him, and I couldn't piece what it was.

"Leo," said Petra, watching as the rockstar built up enough anger to explode, almost surrounded by frenzied smoke, "I know she's not your favorite."

"Not," his jaw was clenched, his teeth glued together, "my favorite?"

"Hear me out," said Petra, standing up—which didn't give her much more height than when she was sitting—and holding her hands out, palms facing us. "Her career is on the up-and-up, Leo. She's got positive reviews out the wazoo, and everyone loves her. Having a duet with her...it might fix your image. Might help with that asshole who keeps insulting you. Might shoot your stardom up even higher, and I know that's what you want."

His gaze was stone, his lips tight, and his shoulders so tense they might cut through the air. I noticed his fists balling, and wasn't sure if I should rub his back to soothe him, or leave him alone. I'd never seen him like this; not even when he'd been about to yell at me for meeting with Cameron. That was jealousy; this was...rage.

"I," he hissed the words, "need to think about it." He deflated as if pricked by a needle, and covered his face with his hands. "I'm not much for duets to begin with, but with her?"

"Remember." Petra sat back down, seemingly releasing her own tension. "She's a pop-rock queen, and that's where you tend to gravitate when you're in solo mode. If you want to regain your crooner, romantic status...she's the way to go. Things have changed since your last stint, Leo. You have to get with these times, and she's with them. Big time."

I understood what Petra was aiming for, and it made sense. But a part of my heart sank into my stomach. While I loved every song Leo composed and sang, I'd always preferred him when he was with SMASH, being the punk boy I knew he was at his core.

But who was I to decide for him? I had no musical talent and no say in this. I was an aspiring fashion reporter in love with a billionaire rockstar.

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