What I wouldn't get used to were the damn paparazzi.

Especially now that I lived in the Upper West Side, it was nearly impossible to get home without being hounded by them. Jumping out from corners, following me with the snap snap of their obnoxious cameras, bursting out of bushes and giving me heart attacks—it was a lot. It was too much.

Today in particular, because when one outlet had gotten wind that Leo was attending the charity event, the picture-hungry monsters were out in troves. They didn't have the exact location of Leo's place, thankfully, but to lessen the risk, Leo asked me to hang out while he rehearsed, and then he'd devise a strategy to get me home. I usually winged it and took the subway, but as of late, it'd been too risky to even do that. That was why we always met at my pad, because his drivers and security detail always knew which ways to go to avoid being seen.

So there I was, lazily lounging on his bed, peering out the window at the river, the gentle clouds clogging overhead. Fall in New York City was always beautiful, peaceful; and to spend it with Leo, high on his touch, his compliments, was bliss.

I'd brought my laptop with me, and was busy typing away at research and correspondence I'd abandoned, when the bedroom door creaked open. I lowered the top of my laptop, smiling, thinking it was Leo coming to check on me. I wished I could hear his guitar and melodic voice from several floors down, where he worked in the basement studio.

But it wasn't him. Instead, the head that poked in was one of long, dark, shiny hair, and the face was that of a woman. A woman I'd never seen before since becoming intimate with Leo. She saw me, her obscure eyes narrowed, and she waltzed into the room with such ease, it was as if she were intimate with him, too.

"Emmaline?" She held a clipboard, and looked down at it as she addressed me. She wore tight, blue-washed jeans and a white button-up, a few buttons undone to show golden skin, and a dip between her nicely shaped breasts.

"Emma," I said, folding my laptop and moving to the edge of the bed. "Can I help you? Leo's in rehearsal, so—"

"—I know." Her eyes jerked up so fast, targeting me, that I froze. "I'm not here to see him."

She jotted something on her clipboard, then set it down on the nearest mantle, before removing the backpack I didn't realize she was wearing.

"Uh," I narrowed my gaze on her, assessing, "then what can I do for you?"

She snapped her fingers at me, a fierceness to the gesture that reminded me of a gym teacher beckoning me forward to do the exercise I dreaded, in front of everyone. "You can stand up and come closer so I can measure you."

"M-measure me?" My mouth opened and closed, and even as I started to lift from the mattress, I figured it out. "Oh, wait—are you the dressing assistant?"

Leo hadn't warned me he'd already spoken with his staff to fit me for my dress. Nor had he told me they'd come see me today. Nor had he mentioned, not even in passing, that his wardrobe assistant was a woman.

And what a woman she was. As I approached her, I tried not to gape at her face, her tanned skin, smooth and covered in a barely-there powder. Deep blush accented her already sharp cheeks, and her lips were tinted a maroon shade that evoked a piece of melting milk chocolate. And those eyes—lined with Cleopatra-like eyeliner, they were as dark as I'd thought from afar. Almost black, yet with a hint of warmth in them, though she kept them slitted as I came up to her.

She smelled like burnt cinnamon and cloves; a mulled wine mixed with citrus fruits. She was autumn embodied, with a touch of winter.

"I'm Belle," she breathed, as she extracted a tape-measure from her bag, unfolding it. "Stand still, please."

Her voice was sultry, yet so strict I found I had no choice but to obey her. She was bossy, and strangely, I liked it. But that also made me wonder if Leo liked it, too. Did she act this way with him? Why hadn't he told me the person in charge of his clothing, his outfit fittings, was this stern but sexy lady?

She was about my height, maybe half an inch taller, all curves and muscle. A mostly flat stomach, defined arms wrapped in her tight shirt, but hips that were wide, and an ass that was—

Fuck, she was hot. My definition of hot, at least, for a woman; curvy, bigger-breasted, darker-featured, and confident in her appearance. She was swift, her fingers nimble as she measured every inch of me. I wouldn't lie; when she slung the tape around my body, right under my breasts, my breaths hitched and I sensed a little tingle in my lower half. She was focused, not paying me and my oddly mounting desire any heed, and took notes after each measure.

At one point she straightened up, studying my face up close—super up close. I smelled her coffee breath, saw her pouty lips coated with that chocolaty lipstick, admired her enigmatic gaze—and my insides melted.

"No, I don't think I need to do that," she said, backing away, continuing to scrutinize me as if I were a statue and couldn't speak. She'd barely said a word to me since she offered up her name and told me to stay still. But when she did speak, her voice was tantalizing. She sounded like a sexy phone operator who'd say two words and I'd be coming, immediately.

There was definite moisture in my underwear by the time she was finished with the measuring part. I realized that not only had I never been measured before, nor had I ever envisioned the action to be so fucking arousing. The way her fingertips had grazed my inches, coming so close to my boobs and ass, it was an incredible turn-on. And something about that forbidden, I shouldn't be allowed to be aroused vibe was an even bigger turn-on.

Which again prompted me to think of Leo. Why hadn't he informed me of her? I'd never seen her in his staff before, though he'd made it clear he had way more assistants than I thought. Someone who regulated his clothing options; wouldn't I have met her prior to today? Or was she super discreet and only showed up when I wasn't around? Shy, possibly?

I considered that last option for a second, since she hadn't spoken much. But there was nothing shy about her. She moved with assurance, bending over languorously to grab stuff from her bag, almost as if to entice me on purpose. She paid little to no attention to me, too busy scrolling through her phone and scribbling more notes.

Then, out of nowhere, she flipped to me and started taking pictures. I startled, unsure if I was supposed to pose, smile, flip around—

"—don't smile," she said, just as my lips curled upward. "One hand on your hip, as if you were posing for a cameraman."

I obliged, and her camera app clicked.

"Right, now stand in profile." I turned sideways. "Arms at your sides."

Fuck, the bossier she got, the hotter I found her. It wasn't usually my style to be told what to do, but the more she did, the more I wanted her to. She was snippy, impatient, and any time my eyes met hers, I thought she might eat me. Either she hated me, or that was her personality.

Why would she hate me, though? Unless she and Leo had hooked up before, and she was jealous...

"Okay, turn around completely," she said, doing a twirling gesture with her free hand.

"Why are you taking pictures?" I did what she asked, but frowned as I could no longer admire her pout.

"Why do you ask questions?" Click. "It's so I can decide if something will look good on you while I'm shopping."

"Shopping?" I craned my neck to see her, and she growled, so I replaced it.

"Shopping for your dress." Click. "That's why I'm here, isn't it? You can turn back around now."

I twisted and lowered onto the bed. "He's sending you shopping for me?"

She snorted as she put her things into her bag, her gaze averted. "You're going to a high-profile charity event, and you're Leo's girlfriend, so yes, I'd say that falls in my duties."

She rose to her full height, zipping the bag, and fuck, I had to bite my tongue to not say anything. Her smoldering glances and voluptuous body had me going, and I didn't know what to do about it.

Leo and I, as far as I understood, were exclusive. But this bombshell was standing there staring at me in my leggings and tight t-shirt, and I couldn't tell if she wanted to stab me or rip my clothes off. Maybe a mix of both.

The air in the room became suffocating. All I wanted was to pull my leggings down, my underwear too, and spread my legs to start touching myself at her command—

The door opened abruptly, tearing me from my fantasies.

Leo appeared. "Ladies," he said, smiling as he entered the room. "I see you've met."

I almost wanted to rub my eyes to be certain, but Belle lit up at the sight of him. Gone was the strict but sexy boss-lady who'd spat out instructions with ease. In front of Leo, she was a wilting wildflower, her petals coming loose at the vision of the god-like rockstar who'd entered her space.

"Leo," she said, her voice an absolute one-eighty from the provocative tone she'd taken with me. "I didn't realize you'd be joining us!"

She'd gone from dark and dangerous, to girly and sweet-hearted in a matter of seconds.

Oh, they for sure hooked up in the past, and she clearly wasn't over it.

And it didn't bug me as much as I thought it would. While I seemed to prefer her perilous and bossy, there was something almost innocent about her now, dulling herself down in front of her boss. She wouldn't be bossy with him, no; he'd either be too turned on by that, or he'd reprimand her. I'd seen Leo with his staff—he was friendly with most, curt with some, but never out-of-line.

Had he gotten out-of-line with Belle, though? Their energy was...weird. Hard to pinpoint. He was his normal charming self as he spoke to her, listening to her ideas of what to make me wear for the event. His body language was open, but not overly so, and he crossed his arms as he looked over her notes. She beamed, her cheeks flaring with a soft pink that only made her more beautiful. There was a sort of bashful glow about her, an intimidation with him being so close to her.

I wasn't sure how to interpret any of it.

"Hey, you," said Leo, marching over to me and kissing me; smooth, swift, a quick hello-goodbye before he returned to work.

"Hi," I said, holding in a gasp as he moved to my side and I glimpsed Belle's expression. It was downright menacing, her upper lip curling into a snarl.

What the fuck?

I lost my words, but she hurried to fix her face as Leo peered over at her. "Well, if we're done here..." She hefted her bag over her shoulder, offering the brightest of grins to Leo, and not looking at me at all. "I'll get to work finding the perfect dress." Without acknowledging me, she left us alone, gently sealing the door behind her.

"What the fuck is her problem?" I twisted to face Leo, who'd settled onto the bed's edge with me.

"Huh?" He snapped out of it and cocked his head. "Who, Belle? Did she have a problem?"

"Uh, was I the only one who noticed her glaring at me when you kissed me? And she barked orders at me, like I was some robot or something." I squinted at him, becoming annoyed with the amusement peppering over his expression. "You think this is funny?"

"No," he grabbed my arms and compressed them, "it's not. Belle is...uh...something else. A bossy bitch, she likes to call herself. She's had a rough upbringing and worked hard to get where she is, dressing a billionaire rockstar and all. She takes her job super seriously."

"Yeah?" I gulped and backed out of his grip, a foreign flare of jealousy spiking my blood. "But she lit the fuck up when you came in. Totally shifted. What's up with that?" I arched an eyebrow and hugged myself. "Is there a history between you two? You didn't even tell me your dressing assistant was a woman, and I'd been expecting a man, and—"

Whoa, that was a lot for me. I wasn't the blubbering jealous mess type, especially when seconds ago I'd been drooling over how hot she was. And now I was throwing her under the bus, getting her in trouble with her boss?

Leo laughed as he took me in his arms again. "Gosh, you're adorable when you're jealous."

I groaned, trying to weasel free. "I'm not jealous. Just felt...blind-sided or something..."

He hunched to be closer to my height, our eyes on the same level. "Belle is not into me. It's respect, admiration. She loves my music, that's all, and I intimidate her. She's always been like that. But when she's working, she's working. That bossy bitch thing? She gives it to me, too. And," his smirk grew, "she's not into dudes, anyway. Only women. She was jealous of me getting to kiss you."

I wrinkled my nose. "You sure about that? She was jealous of me, I'd say. You didn't see it, but she snarled—"

"—hey," he pressed his hand over my mouth, "she's not jealous of you. She's worked for me for years, okay? Chill." He kissed my forehead and hugged me. "And trust me when I tell you she'll find you the best fucking outfit for the event. You're going to look exquisite, and you'll thank her, and you'll stop misinterpreting her attitude then, yeah? Because you'll see all the trouble she went through to make you look hot on my arm."

He returned to his rehearsal, and I sat back on the bed, opening my laptop to research different flirting tactics between women, not trusting his judgment in the slightest. Yeah, he'd been with many women, sure; but I'd been with many women, too, and Belle's behavior didn't sit right with me.

♪♪♪