Warm water trickles down her cold, anxious body. The water pressure is something to be desired but the freedom of being able to have your own thoughts in the shower, not only alone but independent, is something she'll never take for granted again.

Even in a big city like NYC, the publishing world is still a small community. I followed some old lady into your building. A friend of mine from work knows your boss. Heard you're doing well. Surprising. Hope you can keep up with it.

The semi-threatening tone of Rob's message makes her feel uneasy. There's no way he meant what he said as genuine words of encouragement. He was being Rob. A sociopathic man on a mission to continue exerting dominance in her life. Was it a threat?

She hears her front door slam shut. Harry must have finally awoke and left. He had passed out on her couch the night before after their evening at Coney Island. Unwilling to wake him, she spent the night in her own bed, very much aware of the presence of the handsome innocent in her living room. When she woke just a few hours before her shower she found Harry still cuddled into the plush fur of the teddy bear he'd won her. He hadn't moved. Two small glasses of wine and he was out like a blown out light bulb, never to be turned on again.

Wrapping soft terry cloth around her breasts, she stomps toward her bedroom to retrieve the clothes she accidentally left behind when she hears movement in her kitchen.

"Hello?" Mara slows down her steps and works her way down the hallway. Opening up her closet door, she grabs an aluminum baseball bat she's kept hidden for circumstances like this. A young girl in the city could never be too careful. "Who... who's there?"

She takes inventory of everything in her possession. There's nothing of any monetary value, save an old work laptop that takes 10 minutes to boot up.

Is it Rob?

The beat of her heart quickens at the thought. Her knuckles turn white as her grip tightens around the neck of the bat. Her elbows press into her rib cage as she gives everything in her might to keep her towel up. Droplets of now cold water plummet down to her scuffed hardwood floor, the sound of which echoes in the scared, empty corners of her mind.

She can hear the clamoring of pots and pans in her kitchen. The sizzle of cooking food. "HARRY?"

Her body suddenly relaxes, causing the thin fabric covering her frame to fall to the ground along with the bat. Harry stands shocked, with headphones and a cassette player straight from the 1990's. All the blood rushes from his face and to a place that causes him immediate embarrassment. Her skin is smooth and fair. Supple and damp. The cool air in contrast to the residual warm water on her skin causes her nipples to stand on end. The thoughts that run through his mind are nothing to be proud of. Nothing that a true gentleman such as himself should think. But he can't help himself.

They can easily close their eyes but both secretly enjoy the vision in front of them. Harry left briefly to grab some eggs he had gathered from the coupe on the rooftop and to change into comfortable sweats. Sweats that made his growing member even more apparent.

"Wait! I'm sorry!" Harry scurries toward Mara and instinctively wraps his arms around her bare body. "Where are your clothes?"

"What are you doing?!" Mara gasps.

"Covering you! Where are your clothes? In the room? Let's go." Harry's feet shuffle with Mara's to her bedroom to retrieve the clothes she'd left behind. He juts his rear end out to save what's left of his bruised pride but she still feels it.

"Okay, okay," Mara laughs, walking backwards to her bed. "Here. My Queen shirt." She stretches her arm behind her and feels around the bed until her fingertips locate the top. She slips it on her body, the thin white fabric creating a thin barrier between the two of them. Their souls finally separate, begrudgingly of course, as both of them wish to stay pressed against the other for at least a second longer. "What happened? I thought you left!"

"I did for a second. I changed and figured I'd make you some breakfast. I was going to make you the quiche. Why the bat?"

"Well..." The note flashes before her eyes. "Rob was here yesterday when we were at Coney Island. He left a note. The tone was so weird. He apparently got into the building and-"

"He what?"

"He got into the building and slid the note under my door. From the sounds of it he followed Betty inside."

Harry's had a troubled past. One that left him slightly bitter deep down inside. At a young age, he was stripped away from his mom and dad by a terrible accident, and although he lived a happy life with his grandparents, he never had a chance to fully process the tragedy. As a result, the small piece of crystalized salt inside of him grew with each passing tide. It ate away at his sweet core, slowly but very surely. The results hadn't surfaced but the thought of someone like Rob bringing not only Mara's but his grandmother's wellbeing into question, awoke a part of himself he suppressed so deeply that he never knew it existed. Until now.

"Let me see the note." Harry's face turns flush with uncertain anger. "Please?" His gentlemanly side bleeds back through his pores.

Mara's barely-covered ass bounces with every step towards her nightstand on the other side of her bed. Harry admires for a second. He runs his fingers through his hair and bites hard into his lip to subdue the thoughts coming to the forefront of his brain. This isn't the time, Harry.

The note is damp, like it'd been held for too long by sweaty palms and tear-drenched with cries it didn't deserve. His heart breaks at the touch of the paper. The lines bled into the others. The ink runs a veiny course up and down the correspondence. Rob doesn't deserve this type of reaction and Harry's heart slowly fractures at the thought of Mara weeping in fear at the sight of Rob's terrible handwriting. What he would give to go back in time and reject the wine. To stay awake and make her feel protected. Instead he cuddled with a stuffed animal all night and remained ignorant to the reality of her situation.

"I'm sorry, Mara," Harry mutters, angry with himself for not being more present.

"What? What do you have to be sorry about?"

"This all happened last night and I wasn't there. I passed out but I should have been here for you." His resentment for Rob runs through his veins and marrow, overcoming every red blood cell to the point where all internal canals want to burst with ill temper. He crumples the thin paper in his hand. It could have turned to dust had Harry tried hard enough. "This will never happen again, okay?"

"Harry, this isn't your fight. Don't worry about it. I'm sorry I brought it up."

"Stop," he kisses her, stopping her words. The thought of Rob following Betty into the building moves his stomach like a rusty taffy pull. The thought of Rob's short sentences making Mara feel as though she needs to grab a bat at the sound of any movement feels like liquid Drano flushing through Harry's body. "The bacon!" Harry yells as the hiss of the pan in the kitchen distracts him from his anger. For now.

* * *

Mara buttons up her white collar shirt and tucks it into her only pair of decent work slacks. She'd been called in for a meeting at work. Even as a full-time remote employee, it wasn't unusual for Mara to be called in for the occasional in-person meeting. All she can think about is how she hopes her managers don't remember this outfit from her last conference.

Now several days after the Rob incident, Mara had finally started to feel secure again. She'd spent her time editing and spending time with Harry, Betty and other neighbors for The Mare's Nest events. A small luncheon. Planning for the Fourth of July barbeque. Life had seemingly gone back to normal for Mara, save the small piece of worry in the shape of one folded note, hidden in the dark, crumpled shadows inside of her.

"Hello, I have meeting with Mr. Russell," Mara tells the young receptionist. She sits in the waiting room until her name is finally called.

"Mara, Mr. Russell will see you now."

Her flats pat down the tile of the hallway as she's led to her manager's office. The experience is unexpected. She anticipated being escorted into the usual conference room for a meeting with a new writer. This isn't the case. She'd never actually been in his office and the surroundings are surprising to say the least.

The most shocking of it all is a framed photo on his desk. Three men on a golf course. They cheers their beer mugs. Palm trees and sunny skies pictured behind them. One of the men is Mr. Russell. The man in the middle is a familiar face she can't place the name of. The man on the far left - Rob. Mara's heart skips several beats at the sight of his beady eyes.

"Ah, yes. Mara Jane. Thank you for coming into the office today. We truly appreciate it." Mr. Russell steps into his mahogany office. First edition books he's never read line the shelves. Memoirs of life gurus and published therapists lay in stacks in the corners, an attempt to make him seem more insightful than he likely is. "Well, there's no need to waste anyone's time here, especially yours. We have some unfortunate news for you and we hope you understand. We've been put under immense pressure to downsize. Unfortunately, your work wasn't meeting the necessary requirements and after much consideration, we've come to the decision that we'll need to let you go."

"Wait... why? My books have performed well above our usual standards. 'The Brave Ones' made the New York Times bestseller list. There's been talk about making a movie based on 'Goldie.' I'm almost done with 'Carousel' and there's so much buzz on that one. I- I- I don't understand." She clutches the leather strap of her messenger bag. The picture on his desk says it all. Her cries for mercy will have no effect here.

"We're very sorry, Mara. We appreciate your efforts but after looking into your history, we realized you simply can't keep up with it."

Rob's note flashes before her eyes. "Keep up with what, Mr. Russell?" she asks matter-of-factly.

"You know! The workload. New York City is big but the publishing world is a small community. Maybe this isn't for you, Mara. We wish you the very best." Mr. Russell hits the buzzer on his phone and calls for his receptionist. "Ellen, could you please call a cab for Mara here. Let's give her some per diem for a lunch as well. On us. To show her how much we appreciate the work she's done for us here." His finger let's go of the intercom and he looks back at Mara. The door of his office swings open.

Mara's eyes burn into the photograph on his desk, deep into Rob's eyes and singe a hole into the thick photo paper and cardboard back. "Fuck you," she whispers.

"Excuse me?"

"Fuck. You." Her eyes remain locked on the picture as she picks up her bag and stomps to the elevator. This is Rob's doing. His note was a warning and it was verified by Mr. Russell's repeated quotes as he let her go.

* * *

Author's Note: A quick shout out to our good friends oceanlyfe — our future New York Times bestselling author. And ellen_eml — the baby honey we could never live without.