Today was turning out to be a real steaming shit pile of a day.

As Alice stared at the new email in her inbox, she felt the rumble of a stress headache coming on.

The cheerful exclamation point her dissertation committee chair had tacked on didn’t quite manage to counteract the passive-aggressiveness of the parenthetical.

Alice didn’t need to read the body of the email to know what it said. Undoubtedly something similar to the last two emails Dr. Frazier had sent. With a quick finger-swipe across her phone’s screen, she archived the message unread. Out of sight, out of mind.

Too bad the real world didn’t work like a smartphone. If only you could make problems disappear as easily as swiping away an annoying alert on your phone screen. Poof! Gone! Never to trouble you again.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t a problem that would go away so easily.

The reason Alice was ignoring her dissertation advisor’s emails was that she’d been ignoring her dissertation. For months. Like, the last nine months.

It had been easy to stay off the professor’s radar at first. Dr. Frazier had been on sabbatical last summer and fall, and only checked in a few times. Since Alice was in the fifth year of her PhD program and had been a great student and self-starter up until then, Dr. Frazier had no reason to suspect she wouldn’t be just fine on her own for a few months. Especially since Alice had responded to all her early emails with assurances that everything was proceeding apace.

But now it was the spring semester. Dr. Frazier was back from sabbatical, and a few weeks after the start of classes, she’d sent an email asking for an update on Alice’s progress. Which Alice had ignored. A few weeks later she’d sent another email, which Alice had also ignored. And now this one. Alice knew she couldn’t put her off forever. By now, Dr. Frazier had almost certainly asked around the sociology department and discovered Alice hadn’t been seen on campus in months—not since the previous June, to be exact.

Sooner rather than later, Alice was going to have to face the music and explain herself.

There was a good reason she hadn’t set foot on campus in two semesters, and that reason was named Dr. Gilchrist. He was a member of Alice’s dissertation committee specializing in criminal recidivism, and the department expert in network analysis. One of the key components of the dissertation prospectus her committee had approved was a chapter applying network analysis to her data. Alice didn’t know how to do network analysis, so her adviser had recruited Dr. Gilchrist to walk her through it.

At first, Alice had liked Dr. Gilchrist—or Neil, as he’d cheerfully insisted upon being called. She’d enjoyed the interactions she’d had with him in the past, and had been excited when he’d agreed to be on her committee and work with her on the network analysis. He was personable, generous with his time, and had a lot of knowledge he seemed eager to share.

Or so she’d thought.

Their first meeting had gone well enough, but he started to make her uncomfortable the second time she’d come to his office. For one thing, he’d closed the door, which he hadn’t done before. Once they were alone, his friendliness became more pronounced, to a degree that set her on edge. More than once, she caught him staring at her breasts.

But he hadn’t done anything overtly wrong—nothing she could describe to someone else in a way that would be incontrovertible—so she convinced herself she’d let her imagination get the better of her.

She continued meeting with him, even as his so-called friendliness moved farther over the line. He started touching her casually on the shoulder or the knee. Making offhand comments on the appearance of other female students in the department. Once, as he was showing Alice something on his computer, he tabbed past a porn website. He started introducing sexual subjects into the conversation, asking Alice about her sexual history and preferences, and sharing inappropriate information about his own.

She spent a lot of time shifting out of his reach and pretending to laugh off his comments. The shame shouldn't have belonged to her, but she was the one left feeling guilty and unclean.

It occurred to her that he was intentionally dragging his feet and withholding the knowledge she needed in order to keep her coming back, but what could she do? She needed him, and Dr. Frazier was away, unable to help—even assuming she’d believe Alice, which was by no means a given. She was, after all, the one who’d sent Alice to Dr. Gilchrist in the first place.

And he hadn’t done anything that far over the line. Professors were friendly and informal with graduate students all the time. Nothing had actually happened, right? Alice was just constantly uncomfortable, feeling like she needed to play defense around him.

Her anxiety increased as Dr. Gilchrist’s “flirting” became more aggressive. He regularly complimented her body and reminded her how much influence he could have over her future in academia—though not in the same sentence, of course. The two statements were linked only by inference, but infer from them she did. He invited her out for drinks repeatedly, which she was forced to decline repeatedly. Once, he attempted to give her a shoulder rub.

It wasn’t any one thing that finally crossed the line into too much. It was more like a steady, progressive increase in her baseline level of dread, until it reached a point that became paralyzing. Alice left Gilchrist’s office one day, her skin crawling from the feel of his eyes on her, and simply never went back. She begged off their next scheduled meeting and stopped answering his emails altogether.

That was nine months ago, and she hadn’t set foot on campus since. She hadn’t touched her dissertation either. Even thinking about it made her feel queasy.

Writing a dissertation was supposed to be stressful, but it was the harassment that had kept her up nights, made her feel like she was getting a stomach ulcer, and brought her to tears unexpectedly. It was Gilchrist’s predatory attentions that had sent her into hiding and brought her academic aspirations to a humiliating and unplanned halt.

She was twenty-seven and she’d been in school her whole life—she should be graduating in June and starting her job search. Instead, just when her career should have been taking off finally, it was over, and Alice had nothing to show for her years of work. No PhD, no plan, and no aspirations. Nothing but a temporary job she’d never intended to keep for so long, on a television show that had been canceled.

Alice swiped to her phone’s browser and typed Craigslist in the search bar. She’d have to reply to Dr. Frazier soon, but not today. Her stomach already felt like a garbage disposal choking on a chicken bone, and anyway she had the more pressing problem of her impending homelessness to deal with. Her dissertation had already waited nine months; it could wait a few more weeks until her current housing crisis had resolved.

While everyone else ate lunch in the catering tent, Alice sat alone with her burger and fries at one of the picnic tables on the other side of the soundstage and browsed the roommate-wanted listings. She’d already asked all the other extras and production assistants if they knew anyone in need of a roommate or sublet. Unfortunately, no one had, and her earlier Zillow search had turned up nothing but a dire-looking studio in Reseda she could just barely afford, with the toilet literally in the living room with no walls or doors around it.

It left her no choice but to throw herself on the mercy of internet strangers.

As she scanned through the classified ads, Alice grew increasingly depressed. Repulsive as the living room toilet was, most of the roommate situations seemed even worse…

Biggest of nopes on the House of Reptiles.

Clearly a poly couple in search of a live-in third. She wished them luck in their endeavors, but no way.

Definitely a cult.

Gross.

Alice groaned and folded forward, resting her forehead on the picnic table. Was everybody looking for a roommate in Los Angeles some kind of perv? She was going to end up with the living room toilet in Reseda, wasn’t she? She supposed as long as none of her guests ever needed to pee, she could learn to live with it. Or maybe she’d just never invite anyone over at all—it was hard to imagine offering someone a drink with her toilet sitting out in the open a few feet away.

Something cold and wet nuzzled against Alice’s ankle and she startled upright. Griffin Beach’s dog Taco gazed up at her with his comical underbite and wide doggy eyes.

Taco’s owner stood a few feet away, holding a smoothie shaker in his hand. “You okay?” he asked, tilting his head as he studied her face.

He was still wearing his blue doctor’s scrubs, which had been custom tailored by wardrobe to look far better on him than scrubs had any right to do. Griffin had been a lot skinnier and less muscular the first few seasons of the show, but he’d bulked up so much for Troublemakers 4 that they’d had to write an explanation for his upgraded bod into his character’s storyline on Las Vegas General.

“Yep. Fine,” Alice said quickly as she reached down to pet Taco. He wagged his tail and whined hopefully, so she gave in and lifted him onto her lap.

Griffin shook his head, grinning as Taco licked Alice’s chin. “Found a sucker with a lap, did you, buddy?”

Alice pushed Taco away from her face and glanced at Griffin without quite meeting his eye. “Thanks for earlier. I’m sorry you had to step in.”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “De nada.”

She’d always liked Griffin, but she was also a little wary around him, and not just because background had to tread carefully around the talent. He was nicer to the extras than some of the other actors, but he could also be kind of…flirty. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. A lot of actors could be like that, and sometimes it was just a harmless side effect of their people-pleasing personalities. The profession tended to attract certain types: attention-starved middle children, class clowns who needed to be liked, and extroverts who drew energy from interacting with others. There were plenty of introvert actors too, but they seemed far less comfortable with the fame and attention that came with success.

Guys like Griffin, on the other hand, seemed to eat all that stuff up. And while his friendliness was certainly preferable to the raging asshole prima donnas who threw a tantrum if you made eye contact with them—like Dean Harwell—Alice’s recent experiences had left her distrustful of friendly men.

Not that she’d ever heard a bad word against Griffin, beyond his reputation as something of a manwhore. According to the set grapevine, his workplace conquests numbered in the double digits, including at least three of his costars and two members of the makeup department. If you believed the gossip sites, his romantic past was littered with an endless string of C-list actresses and models, none of whom had lasted more than a week or two. One of the less reliable sites even claimed he had a penchant for picking up starry-eyed fans in bars, which Alice wasn’t sure she believed, but wasn’t sure she disbelieved either.

She wasn’t being judgy. As long as all parties were consenting—and she’d never once heard anyone imply otherwise—how Griffin Beach chose to conduct his private life was totally his business. Alice simply had no interest in drawing his attention—or anyone else’s for that matter. At this particular point in her life, she didn’t want anything to do with any men, no matter how nice or gorgeous.

“I feel like such an idiot,” she said, scratching Taco in his favorite spot under his chin. “I’ve never messed up that bad before.”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it.” Griffin threw his leg over the bench across from her and sat down, propping his forearms on the table. “It happens to the best of us. On my very first speaking part, I poured a pot of coffee all over the table instead of into my cup. Forget Dean. He was in a pissy mood long before you threw a tray of knives at Brent.”

“I know.” Alice sighed and reached for a cold french fry, which she broke in half to share with Taco. “Dean isn’t even my biggest problem right now.”

Griffin’s eyebrows lifted in inquiry. “What’s up?”

The dissertation hanging over her head wasn’t something she liked to talk about, so she stuck to the more emergent housing problem. “I’m being kicked out of my apartment so my roommate’s boyfriend can move in.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, and the apartment search isn’t going well.”

“Slim pickings?”

“See for yourself.” She unlocked her phone and slid it across the table with the Craigslist page open.

Griffin’s eyes widened as he scanned the listings. “Female coed wanted for rent-free situation,” he read aloud. “Must be open minded and a good listener who enjoys a mature man. Light cleaning and cooking expected.” He looked up at her, grinning. “What? You don’t want to be a sex-slave-slash-therapist-slash-housekeeper for some creepy old dude?”

“I’m not that desperate—yet. But ask me again when I’m living in my car.” Taco lay down with his head on his paws, and Alice laid her hand on his head, smiling at the blissful way his eyes rolled. When she looked up again, Griffin was staring at her with a weird expression on his face. “What?” she asked, warily.

“Nothing.” He reached for his smoothie shaker and took a drink of whatever beige liquid was inside. “I was just thinking…” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You could move in with me.”

Alice’s mouth fell open. “Uhhh…” Had Griffin Beach seriously just asked her to move in with him? Because that was crazy. Big time movie-slash-TV stars didn’t invite lowly extras to move in with them out of the kindness of their own hearts. That was definitely taking nice way too far.

“I didn’t mean move in with me, move in with me,” Griffin clarified without making things any clearer.

“What…did you mean?” Alice glanced around apprehensively, and was discouraged to find no one else in sight. She and Griffin were effectively alone on this side of the building.

“I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, almost like he was…nervous? She’d never seen him act nervous before—he usually oozed easygoing confidence. “I need a dog sitter. As soon as we wrap next month, I’m leaving for a three-month shoot in Atlanta, and I’ve been trying to find someone to take care of Taco for me while I’m gone.”

“Oh.” Alice relaxed a microfraction. That was slightly less crazy.

“Three months is a long time to trust him with a stranger,” Griffin went on. “But he loves you, and you’re great with him. You could house sit for me and look after both him and the house while I’m gone. It’s win-win. And I’ll pay you, obviously.”

“Really?” Alice said in disbelief. “I mean, you barely know me. You sure you want to let me live in your house while you’re away?”

It seemed like an awful lot to trust her with on their limited professional acquaintance. They chatted occasionally, sure, but it wasn’t like they really knew anything about each other. For all he knew, she could be a crazed dognapper who was just waiting until the right opportunity presented itself.

Okay, maybe that was a little far-fetched.

“We’ve worked together almost every day for an entire season,” Griffin pointed out. “Which is long enough to know you’re reliable and professional on the job. You already look after him for me sometimes when I’m on set, and I’ve let you go into my trailer when I’m not there.”

That was all true. On more than one occasion Griffin had asked her to take Taco back to his trailer—or go get Taco from his trailer and take him for a walk. He used to ask the PAs to do it, but once he saw how much Alice liked Taco, he’d started asking her sometimes too.

“You’ve never once stolen my laptop or sold my email to TMZ,” Griffin said with a shrug.

“That you know of,” Alice said. “I could be biding my time until your next movie hits to drive the price up.”

He smiled. “I’m taking my laptop to Atlanta with me, but if you want to sell my old socks on eBay, go nuts…unless you’re not interested in being a dog sitter? Which I would totally understand.” He gestured at Taco. “This guy can be a real diva. Insists on having his kibble sorted by color, pees on the floor if his mochaccino isn’t hot enough. That sort of thing.”

Alice chewed her lip as she tried to imagine it. Griffin probably had a hella nice house. Having it all to herself for three months would be like a vacation getaway—but with a bonus dog to snuggle. Not to mention how great it would be not to have to pay rent for a while. She could save her money while she took the next three months to find a new place and a new job. Maybe even use the alone time to get back to work on her dissertation. If she could just finish the damn thing, she could put graduate school behind her and stop feeling like a failure.

There was only one problem…

“I have to be out of my place by the twenty-third,” Alice said.

“Of this month?”

“Yeah.”

Griffin tapped his fingers against his shaker as he seemed to think about it. “Okay. Well. What if you moved in now? It’s only a month until I leave. We could be roommates for a month.”

He didn’t look entirely sold on the idea, and neither was she. Living together? In his house. Like roommates, except in this case Alice’s roommate would be her landlord and her employer, and also someone rich and famous who was used to getting his way and being catered to.

All the alarm bells ringing in her head made her headache kick into a higher gear.

“Well?” Griffin said. “What do you think?”

Alice wished she could accept his offer. It would be the solution to so many of her problems. If one of the female cast members had proposed it, she would have said yes in a hot second. But moving in with Griffin Beach? She just couldn’t see herself doing it. The more she thought about it, the more her insides knotted up.

Sure, he palled around with the crew and extras like he was just one of the guys, but Griffin Beach wasn’t just one of the guys. He was someone who made twenty times her salary and could get her fired with a phone call. Not just from Las Vegas General—he could call her agency and make sure she never set foot on a set again. As an extra, she always had to be careful around the talent: don’t distract them, don’t get in their way, don’t speak to them unless they speak to you first. There was a hierarchy that enforced the power imbalance on set. Did she really want to take that power imbalance home with her at the end of every day?

Maybe it would be fine. Griffin genuinely seemed nice. But so had Dr. Gilchrist. Alice had learned the hard way that nice could be deceiving. Sometimes men only acted nice to get you to let your guard down. To make you think you could trust them. It was only later, once they’d gotten past your defenses, that they showed their true selves. When you’d put yourself in a vulnerable position that was hard to get out of, and they could use their power over you to their advantage.

It was possible she was just being paranoid—probable, even. Maybe Griffin was exactly as great as he seemed and was just looking for someone to take care of his dog and nothing else. But Alice had heard too many stories about rich, good-looking actors who were used to taking what they wanted from the women around them. If she moved in with him she’d be completely at his mercy, with no backup plan and nowhere to go if things went bad. Not to mention, he was a lot bigger and stronger than her.

She’d already endured unwanted advances from one man in a position of authority over her. No way was she putting herself in a position for it to happen again. It had been bad enough dealing with it on campus, but to put up with something like that at home, where she couldn’t get away from it, was unthinkable. Even if her fears were totally unfounded, she just couldn’t take the chance.

“I appreciate the offer,” she said, shifting uncomfortably, “but I don’t think so.”

Disappointment splashed over Griffin’s features. “You don’t want to be a dog sitter.”

“It’s not that, it’s just…” She couldn’t think of a normal-sounding reason to give him. I’m afraid to be alone in your house with you? Actually, I’m afraid to be alone with any man. I’ve been burned before and now I’m sort of broken, so I can’t bring myself to accept your very sweet offer. Sorry about that!

“No worries,” he said, letting her off the hook. “I’ll find someone else.”

“I’m sorry.” Alice looked at Taco, feeling like she’d let him down.

“It’s cool.” Griffin grabbed his smoothie shaker and stood up. “Come on, Taco.” He whistled, and the dog jumped down from Alice’s lap.

“Good luck with your dog sitter search,” Alice offered.

“Good luck with your apartment search,” Griffin called over his shoulder.

She watched morosely as the best housing offer she was ever likely to get walked away. Was she crazy for turning it down?

Probably.

That was what that creep Gilchrist had done to her. In addition to ruining her academic career, he’d left her too broken and distrustful to accept kindness when it was offered to her.