I let out a curse as I press START for the fourth time. Again, nothing happens, and I feel a swell of anger rush over me. For twelve years, I have started off each morning with a cup of coffee: black with two sugars. Leave it to Daphni to have the world’s most confusing coffee machine ever.

I tear through the cabinets again, ready at this point to settle for even instant coffee.

Hearing the front door open, I look up to see Melissa in the entryway, balancing her purse and a tray of coffee as she kicks the door closed with her foot.

“Morning!” she calls out, far too cheerful, as she makes her way into the kitchen.

“Morning,” I groan back.

Melissa smiles knowingly before handing me a large coffee cup. “Still black, two sugars?” she asks.

I perk up as I gratefully accept the coffee. “How the hell did you remember?”

She shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly as she takes a sip from her own cup. “It’s my job to remember these things.”

“Yeah, but for Daphni, not for everyone else.”

“Well, for the people who matter to her, it is,” she replies with a quick shrug of her shoulders.

I shoot her a quizzical look but before I can respond, I catch Daphni shuffling into the kitchen. Her bright pink hair is piled high on top of her head. She is wearing a short, silk robe tied across her waist. As she sees me, she quickly crosses her arms over her chest and looks at me accusingly. It’s then that I realize she’s not wearing anything under that robe, and as she reaches across the counter for the coffee offered by Melissa, I can see the outline of her breast pushing against the silk fabric. Though it’s only a second, I feel my dick harden, much to my annoyance. Even after all these years, there’s something about this woman that just ruins any bit of self-restraint I can muster.

She leans back against the counter, her head falling back after she takes a long sip from her coffee. Just that small, inconsequential movement, and the fact that I know she’s naked under the flimsy piece of fabric, is enough to have my dick swell uncomfortably in my pants. As much as I want to continue watching, to remember how good it felt to sink myself inside her, I can’t torture myself like that. I can’t let her break me a second time.

I force myself to turn away, becoming suddenly very interested in the flower arrangement.

“So, what’s on the schedule for today, Mel?” Daphni asks in between sips of her coffee.

When Melissa doesn’t respond, I look up at the two women.

“Something about you looks different,” Melissa remarks, her eyes skimming over Daphni. “You look more…relaxed.”

A subtle blush creeps up Daphni’s cheeks. “I slept really well.”

“Hmm…” Melissa replies, playfully quirking her eyebrow and eliciting an eye roll from Daphni.

“So, Mel. The schedule?”

“Right,” Melissa responds as she reads from her phone. “You have the photo shoot downtown at ten. Then I scheduled lunch for you with Arabella at the Ivy for one. Then you’re free until nine tonight, when you’ve got the Take Five release party. You can do some press there, take some pictures, then head out.”

“Wait, which photo shoot?”

Melissa looks over uncomfortably at me. “The one with, uh, Drizzle. Elijah, his friend, is shooting it.”

Daphni’s eyes instantly find mine and I do my best to look unaffected, to look like I have no idea who this idiot Drizzle is, even though I know he’s the asshole Daphni’s been dating for a year, who is always in the tabloids for another cheating scandal, and who allegedly sent his ex-girlfriend to the ER with a black eye.

“Right, okay,” Daphni responds, tugging her teeth over her bottom lip. “I’ll uh, get ready for that I guess, then.”

“Daphni, if you don’t want to do this, let’s just cancel. Elijah is nobody and this photo shoot isn’t even sold yet to any kind of publication. It’s a waste and you don’t owe Drizzle—”

“I’m doing it, Mel. It’s fine.” She directs her green eyes at me. It’s hard to believe those are the same eyes that would watch me, enraptured, as I would recount the minute details of my day, the same eyes that would glisten with excitement when she would tell me about her dreams. The eyes staring at me now are hard and cold, a shell of what they used to be. “Have the car ready in an hour,” she orders before scurrying out of the kitchen.

Melissa lets out a heavy sigh as she sinks into the barstool. She reaches for her phone and shoots out a few emails while I continue to drink my coffee, replaying the scene over in my head. It’s obvious that Melissa is not Drizzle’s number-one fan, and I can’t blame her. Melissa is one of the few people who actually give a shit about Daphni. How can she stand to watch this train wreck of a relationship? From the look of her tense shoulders, I think it’s harder for her than she lets on.

And what about me? Am I seriously going to be able to watch her with him? Watch her kiss him, touch him? The thought sends a simmering rush of anger through me. “Stop it,” I command myself. I need to have more self-control. She’s not mine anymore.

* * *

“Are you sure this is the right place?”

I look over at Daphni in the passenger seat. Though she’s wearing dark-tinted sunglasses, I can see her scanning around her. We’re in the gravel parking lot of what looks like an abandoned warehouse, something you might expect to find in a cheap slasher flick. The door to the warehouse is ajar, and I can hear the low rumble of bass speakers coming from inside. Outside there’s a scattering of cars, ranging from a beat-up Ford truck to a bright red Maserati. By an overflowing trashcan, a woman with flaming red hair screams on her cellphone, a cigarette dangling from her fingers.

“Mel?” Daphni asks, turning in her seat to face Melissa sitting in the back.

Melissa looks down at her phone and shrugs. “This is the address. And there are a few cars here already, so I guess this is it.”

Daphni pulls a water bottle from her bag and takes a long sip. I catch the faint smell of vodka and shoot her a quizzical look, but she avoids my stare and quickly stuffs the bottle back in her bag.

“All right, then let’s head in,” she says as she opens the door and jumps out. I follow suit, trailing a few steps behind her while Melissa falls in step behind me, typing on her phone as she walks.

As we walk inside the decaying warehouse, the stench of marijuana smoke and mildew hits me. There are a few people milling about, but my radar is up. No one here looks over the age of twenty-five, and it looks more like a trashed fraternity house than a professional photo shoot for the world’s most popular singer at the moment.

A small group of people are sitting on empty milk crates and boxes, passing a large bong around while an incoherent rap song plays on full volume. I don’t have a good feeling about this at all. It’s not the kind of set that someone like Daphni works on. If anything, it looks like a low-rent porn shoot.

I can read the tense energy radiating off of Daphni as her eyes dart around the room, taking it all in. She must know this is ridiculous. For God’s sake, she was on the cover of Vogue a few months ago. No way is this shit acceptable to her.

When she finds the small group passing the bong, she marches over, stopping before a guy wearing a floor-length, cheetah fur coat, black camouflage pants, and unlaced black boots. His hair is cut low, with a “D” buzzed on the side of his head.

“Drizzle!” Daphni shouts over the music, snapping her fingers in front of his face to get his attention.

He looks up at her and smiles lazily when he sees her. His eyes are glazed over and he moves with the sluggishness of someone who is either high, or was dropped too much as a child. In his case, it’s probably a little bit of both.

He gestures for someone to turn the music down and stands to kiss Daphni. She keeps her hands clenched at her sides and her body goes stiff as Drizzle drops his mouth on hers. As he pulls away, he throws his arm over her shoulder and calls out for someone named Elijah.

A short, twenty-something guy runs over, his long fingers curled around a large clipboard. His face is riddled with scars, an unfortunate souvenir from his high school days of greasy skin and too many picked pimples. He’s tall and lanky and he walks with a permanent hunch, which gives him an almost pathetic appearance. When he sees Daphni, a creepy smile crosses his lips. He avoids looking directly at her and mumbles a quick hello.

“Hi Elijah,” she greets him. “What’s the plan for today? I have to be out of here in two hours.”

“Of course, of course,” he says, his voice unexpectedly high-pitched and tinny. “Let me have Angelina show you to your dressing room and we can get you changed and ready to go!”

He calls over a young woman with short, platinum-blonde hair and a cigarette tucked behind her ear. She looks completely checked out and when she approaches the threesome, she holds out her limp hand, dangling from her wrist.

“I’m Angelina. I’m doing your hair and makeup today,” she says, her voice monotone and disinterested.

Daphni turns to look at Drizzle, a confused look on her face. Though I haven’t been to many photo shoots, everything about this interaction looks off, and seeing Daphni’s reaction confirms it for me. Ignoring Daphni, Drizzle pulls out his phone to answer a text.

I catch a flare of annoyance flash through Daphni’s eyes, and yet she still doesn’t say a word. Instead, she gestures for Angelina to lead her back to the dressing room. I follow closely behind before shooting one more look over my shoulder, still uneasy about the whole situation. Something is incredibly off here, but I can’t put my finger on it. All I can do is make sure that I stick close to Daphni and not let her out of my sight.