I kept Daphne's counsel close to my heart, but it didn't help that more days passed and I still heard nothing from Leo. Not a peep. Not any inkling that he was even alive.

A few paparazzi were reporting that there was nothing to report, and even they sounded worried. Leo always popped up somewhere, at some point, invited to some event that he attended if only for a few minutes, long enough to be photographed. But this time, no one had seen him in weeks; not since his show.

I was the most worried of all, yet no one in his staff matched my level of concern. Nicky shrugged, saying it was nothing to fret over, that Leo had disappeared before and came home fine. His security team—that switched out between guarding me and Leo at the penthouse—wouldn't tell me anything, but they showed no emotion. Then again, they showed nothing; they were trained that way, and they held on to their jobs firmly.

Even Petra, who checked in with me every few days, said this wasn't abnormal behavior. He hadn't told any of them why he was isolating. Petra was under the impression he needed a break after all the intense media coverage of his successful show. She wasn't completely wrong, when I thought about it. But I didn't plan on telling her or anyone the truth. If they knew Leo had holed up at the penthouse because of me? Well, I wasn't certain if Nicky would keep feeding me or if the car service would accept to drive me anywhere.

Not that I needed to go many places, but after fourteen days of confinement, I did. For my meeting with SHOW SoHo.

Two weeks had passed since I'd last seen Leo, stomping out of his own house for space. And a few days ago, SHOW SoHo responded to my email, offering me dates and times to meet with them. When we set everything up, I had another urge to text Leo and tell him...but since he never replied to my initial message giving him the good news, I didn't bother.

"I'm sure he's happy for you," said Petra, when I told her about SHOW SoHo contacting me. "It's a wonderful opportunity, and I hope it works out. He'll congratulate you when he's ready. He just, ah," she flinched, "needs some time to himself."

I launched myself at her without meaning to, too hungry for information on my boyfriend. "Have you seen him? Visited him? Is he okay? Is he eating, or drinking too much, or—"

Petra grabbed my hands and lowered them gently to my sides. "He's fine, I promise. Might be drinking a lot, yes, but that's how he copes."

I didn't want him to cope with booze; that was one of our primary issues. Him covering up any of his concerns by drowning in liquor, then removing his clothes and fucking me until he forgot why he was mad in the first place. Except right now...well, did he have the fucking part? Was he sleeping with someone else to alleviate his troubles? If I asked Petra, she'd be suspicious, and I couldn't have that.

So I dressed as best as I could, with Belle's touch of red in my outfit, and an otherwise demure, charcoal gray skirt and matching jacket.

Once I'd put on a thin layer of makeup, I got into the car waiting for me in the basement garage. One peek at Leo's Lambos told me he hadn't snuck over here at some point to take them out. He really was isolated at his penthouse, and I wondered if he'd even stepped outside for air.

How much time did he need? What was he thinking about? Was he berating Cameron every day, or had he met with him to give him a piece of his mind? Because this all started with him. Cameron was the one stirring up trouble between us. Cameron was the one whispering that he missed me in my ear, and kissing my cheek in plain sight of paparazzi who couldn't wait to report on it.

I'd zoned out for so long, it took the driver turning around and raising his voice at me for me to realize we'd arrived. The area looked familiar—and I understood why when I exited the car and glanced at the tall, glass-covered buildings, the busy streets, the suit-wearing businessmen passing by me in such a rush they had no idea who I was.

This was the Financial District, and if I wasn't mistaken, a few blocks down from LuXe—

As if I'd imagined him into existence, I saw the very man who represented LuXe, across the street. Mr. Ivy, in the flesh. A bus passed between us, and I blinked, wondering if I'd made him up, if I was so distraught that I was seeing things; but no, it was him. Exiting his own private car with his snooty assistant on his heels.

Even from afar, I saw the snide sneer on his face, and took in the disgusted look he gave his assistant as he hauled a tray of coffees and a bag of pastries out of the car.

I watched them. Back when I worked at LuXe, it was my job to fetch that coffee and those pastries, but I was never given special car service for it. I had to walk, take the subway, the bus, cross crazy streets and run until my legs hurt to get my boss his requests before he decided I was too late.

As if he'd heard my thoughts, or sensed my glare on him, Mr. Ivy turned around. He immediately spotted me on the opposing sidewalk, standing there like I was frozen in time. No way would he recognize me—he hated me to begin with, and then after I quit to be Leo's full-time girlfriend, he hated me even more. Daphne told me all the crappy, creepy things he said about me, and I'd hoped to never be in his vicinity again.

Yet there we were. A crowded avenue separated us, thank goodness. And what did it matter? He had no clue who I was, he wouldn't recall—

His sneer somehow deepened, and he elbowed his assistant, nudging him into looking my way. That assistant would recognize me in a heartbeat, no doubt. And sure enough, he did, as his face morphed into the same sneer as his editor-in-chief. Both scrutinized me as if I'd spat on them. And I would have, were we on the same side of the street.

They were glowering now, pointing at me and saying things I couldn't hear. I twisted around to see if they might have been pointing at something else, and saw the huge letters on the building behind me. SHOW SoHo — NYC DIVISION flared brightly on the facade, large enough for them to read with ease from across the street.

I smirked as I turned back around, and walked backwards to the entrance. It was tempting, so tempting to lift my hand and flash them both my middle finger. But instead I waved with much more vigor than necessary, and pushed into the building.

***

I had some apprehension before this meeting, of course. After the last one in a back-alley, in a room filled with tobacco smoke and stained from age, I didn't know what to expect. But SHOW SoHo's location was clean, secure, and smelled like citrus and pine. Every employee I met was polite, helpful, and didn't look me up and down like I didn't belong, or like I was an object to be worshiped.

The editor-in-chief, Zita, didn't wear holed jeans and a t-shirt striped with sweat. She wore a tailored blue suit that matched her bright blue hair, and her smile was kind, her words measured and making sense.

They wanted me. After reading the full article on Sapphire that I sent them, they were hooked. My writing was pristine, my opinions controversial but concise and interesting. And the photos I'd chosen were some of the best they'd seen of Sapphire. The price they offered was over what I'd expected, and then they topped it by begging me to stay on and write as a case-by-case, sort of freelance writer, for now.

That wasn't an offer I could afford to turn down.

On the way out, after an animated conversation about the life of celebrity billionaires, Zita stopped me, her hand still wrapped around mine in a parting handshake.

"This might be overstepping, but," she swallowed, her brown eyes enlarging, "do you think you could get a similar interview with Leo, too? Not contingent on you working here, of course. If you can't, it's no big deal."

I sensed myself closing up. In our entire discussion, Leo hadn't been brought up once. I'd gotten this interview purely because of the article with Sapphire, nothing else. I'd gotten here on talent, like I wanted.

For Leo to come up in conversation now, when I was so, so close to success, made my heart drop.

"No, seriously," said Zita, likely noticing my shift in demeanor, my body shrugging forward. "You've got the job, no matter what. You're here because we liked what you wrote, not because of who you're dating. But if you could somehow land an article about this person you're dating, we'd love it. Either way. You're in."

I teetered in the threshold, glancing towards the cubicles outside of her spacious but moderately luxurious office. A few weeks ago I'd have told her piece of cake! I'd have no issue whatsoever getting Leo to sit down for a minute and pose for a few photographs. But now? I had no idea what terms we were on, no idea if he would ever come home, or if this home was still my home. We were on the edge of a blow-up, and no one knew it but him, me, and Daphne, of course. And maybe Cameron.

If I told this woman Leo and I were having a small spat, what would stop her from releasing that information? She edited a magazine, for crying out loud. While her articles focused on fashion, who said she couldn't squeeze in a quick half-page on Leo Lee and the troubles he was having with the girlfriend he'd written most of his recent album about?

I couldn't risk it. Nor could I risk declining this request, in case this job was contingent on me interviewing Leo.

"I'll see what I can do," I said, slipping out of her grip. "He's been slammed since his album's release, but I'll ask him."

Zita flashed me a genuine smile as she guided me to the elevator. "I bet he is slammed. That album was fresh and pivotal." She pressed a hand to her heart and flushed. "I'm a fan, I'll admit. And a bit jealous of you," she chuckled, "getting to date him and all. But good for you." The elevator dinged as it arrived, blocking out the sound of typing and phone calls in the background. "I really look forward to working with you, Emma. And seeing what else you come up with."

I grew hot as I entered the elevator, fanning my face as I traveled downward. Inside, I was thrilled, for sure. SHOW SoHo bought my article, and would buy more from me. Would they help me get articles? Probably not; but if I used Sapphire's offer for help to its full extent, I was positive I'd obtain more celebrities to put on my list.

But if I spoke to Sapphire, that meant I might have to speak to Cameron, too. And with Leo—

"No," I said aloud as I got out of the elevator, shaking my head. "No, I won't think of him right now. This is about me."

I plucked out my phone to check if my ride was on its way, and started a text to Daphne. My phone pinged with the notification that my driver had pulled up to the curb, so I interrupted my message to hurry outside before anyone noticed me. While the Financial District wasn't too touristy, one never knew when paparazzi clustered about or when groups of tourists hurried down the sidewalks between attractions and museums.

A security guard that hadn't been with me on the way there got out of the front seat, opening the door. This wasn't the same car, either, but I knew the guard, so I didn't question it. This was the bigger vehicle, with more room in the back. The one Leo used when we had events to attend, to make sure we had space to stretch out after standing for hours and greeting people and waving for cameras.

I slid inside, thanked the security guard, settled into my seat, and—

"Fuck," I breathed, finding that I wasn't alone.

Across from me, in the seat behind the passenger side, was Leo. His face was expressionless, his hands clasped in his lap as he stared at me. He sported a pressed suit, and looked more dapper than ever, his skin glowing, his demeanor that of someone who was relaxed. Almost as if he'd taken an extended vacation far away from me, and returned refreshed.

Well, that explains the extra security.

"Leo?"

♪♪♪