MUSE managed to make it to her first day of work on time.

However, when Phoebe and Agnes cornered her in the green kitchen of the Moth Cafe, she wished she hadn't come at all. Better yet, she wished she could've been hit by a car on the way here. Or a bus. Or a train. She wasn't picky.

Adrien had come through on her promise, when she had said she would procure a job for Muse. She'd asked no more questions about Muse's financial situation. She'd only texted Muse the address of her new job and the time she would start later that night. Muse had typed the address into her phone's map, and genuinely grinned when she realized it was Phoebe and Agnes who had hired her as a waitress.

She hadn't realized, though, it would become a therapy session.

"About last night's proposal . . ." said Phoebe, wringing her hands anxiously over her emerald apron.

I just spent my day in an interrogation room, after breaking a sculpture of a naked man, with my fake girlfriend. Soon-to-be fake fiancee. Please, not now. Muse said none of it; she only forced a smile.

"I just have commitment issues," she ground out.

"Well, the spark―the chemistry, it's all there," said Agnes. A Southern accent slipped into her drawl. "I hope you don't give up on the relationship. That kind of love only happens once in a lifetime."

Agnes and Phoebe glanced at each other on cue, softening. Muse seethed inside. Stupid lesbians and their stupid happy marriage.

After spending a very long time in the bathroom contemplating her life choices, and being fed a green macaroon by Phoebe, Muse began her shift. She couldn't stop thinking about Adrien. At the memory of her leaning across the interrogation room desk, meeting the officer's stare with a dark, devilish smirk of her own. The casual way she'd shifted the lapels of her suit, and the power she held in every small gesture―from the flicker of her dimples to the tap of her fingers against the chair. There was an art in that. And Muse had to admit: Even though they had been arrested, even though they'd been facing charges of art heist and thievery and vandalism, all Muse could think of was what it would be like for Adrien to pin her on that table―handcuff still on―and kiss her. Ruthlessly, mercilessly.

"Sorry, I asked for sugar?"

Muse inhaled sharply and focused on the woman in front of her. Dark brown skin and chin-length ringlets. Her doe-brown eyes fluttered, radiating innocence, but her smile said: I can fuck you better than your boyfriend. It was probably close to two in the morning now.

"Pardon?" said Muse.

The woman held up her mug of cream-laden coffee. "I asked for sugar, sorry. I physically can't drink coffee without a shit ton of milk and sugar. I hate the natural taste. I think you forgot the sugar . . ." She glanced at Muse's name tag. ". . . Muse."

Her friend―or girlfriend?―rolled her eyes and laughed.

"Oh, I'm so sorry about that." It took Muse only a few seconds to grab a handful of sugar packets―overkill―and return.

The woman leaned back, her yellow silk dress riding up her smooth brown thighs. "Your hair is beautiful, by the way. Where are you from?"

Muse blushed. She couldn't help it. "Thank you. I'm, um, Egyptian. My parents are from Cairo."

"Can you speak Arabic?"

"No, but I wish. Where are you from?"

"Ethiopia. My mother tongue is Amharic, actually. It was my first language of several. I know eight overall. They're just so beautiful. I could teach you, if you like. Arabic, that is."

Her friend laughed again, this time amused, and excused herself from the plush red couch opposite the woman. Leaving Muse and the woman alone in a corner of the café, near the roaring fireplace. Cozy.

Muse bit her lip. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name . . . ?"

"Leila," said the woman, her dark eyes glittering. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I'll think about it. The, um, offer." Muse was blushing again.

This time, a dark, feminine voice interrupted them: "Offer?"

The expression on Leila's face immediately shuttered into ice. Muse turned around, a thrill brushing her spine when she came face to face with Adrien Vitale. Her hair was pinned back in a low bun, her black eyes shadowed in gold.

She wasn't wearing a suit anymore. Instead, she cut a striking figure in a tight top and low-rise slacks. 

"This is Muse," Leila told Adrien.

"I know," Adrien said coldly. Giving no further explanation. To Muse, she said, "I wanted to see how your first day is going."

The tension became unbearable. What was going on between Adrien and Leila? It was almost like they'd been in a fight or had a bad breakup . . . oh. Muse glanced between them with sudden understanding. Well, there was no helping it. Considering the scene Muse and Adrien had made last night, Leila would find out eventually.

"Adrien is my fiancee," said Muse, like an introduction.

"Fiancee?" The word escaped Leila bitterly. Dripping with so much skepticism Muse had to wonder if Adrien actually had commitment issues.

"Yes." Muse reached for Adrien's arm, lacing her fingers around her bicep. "And, um, if you'll excuse us. We need to have a talk." She tugged Adrien toward the employee closet.

Leila's eyes softened a fraction as she said, "Bye, Muse."

Without further hesitation, Muse yanked Adrien into the closet and shut the door.

Adrien's dry laugh warmed Muse's neck. They were pressed so close together Muse could feel her heartbeat.

"Well, this is ironic."

"You're here to check up on me on my first day?"

Adrien's face betrayed nothing except slight amusement. "Yes."

"That's . . . you didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to."

Muse raised an eyebrow. She didn't know how to deal with this turn in the conversation. She didn't want to think about what any of this meant. "Why don't you and Leila like each other?"

The amusement slid off Adrien's face. Stone, impenetrable yet again. "I don't know."

"It was personal. Why?"

Cold. "I don't know."

Muse realized she had backed Adrien up against a stool. With light force, she made Adrien sit. Now, leaning over her, Muse whispered again, "Why?"

"No reason."

Honestly, Muse had no idea what she was pushing for here. But this, the way Adrien uttered no reason, made her suddenly sure it had to be the opposite. Something was off.

"Why?"

"I fucked her. She wanted a relationship. I didn't. I ended it, and she has never liked me since."

There it was. Muse smiled, so close to Adrien she could taste the warmth, the sweetness of her breath. The scent reminded her of a candy cane.

"We should have rules," she whispered, straddling Adrien's hips.

Adrien grasped Muse with her fingertips. Muse's shirt rode up; the bare contact, skin on skin, elicited her own gasp. Anticipation shivered in her blood. Neither of them was shy now. And Muse sensed she would have to fight for control, for power. She liked that.

"What kind of rules?" breathed Adrien.

The urge to kiss her, to feel those soft lips against Muse's own, to taste her― "It's a fake relationship. A fake marriage. We should figure out our boundaries."

"Like what?"

A knock sounded on the door, startling both of them. Phoebe's voice called: "Is everything alright in there? Murder attempts are bad for business! And so is closet sex."

Muse stood from Adrien's lap. Adrien's hands lingered on her waist.

"Like promise we'll be honest with each other first. Before everything. No hurt feelings, alright? We'll keep it purely professional."

"Promise," said Adrien, rising to her full height―a couple inches above Muse. "No hurt feelings."