With Wills’s encouraging words ringing in my ears, I throw my shoulders back and follow the unfamiliar receptionist into an office I have only seen once or twice before. It belongs to Monsieur Price.

Once inside the empty office, she asks, “Would you like a bottle of water?”

I would prefer a shot of vodka. “Oui.” She nods and steps out for a moment, returning with a cold bottle. “Merci.” I pause for her name, but she does not give it to me—rather motions for me to take a seat and leaves.

Sitting in front of his messy desk, I take in its contents. Glossy headshots and full-body photos cover the entire top of it, with red grease pencils and notepads strewn about like discarded tear sheets. The desk is imposing, and the furniture, in contrast with the conference room, is heavy and traditional. Black. Suits the powerhouse man who uses it.

The baritone of my boyfriend’s voice warms me. He should bend over backwards to make his superstar happy.

Swallowing some water, I lean over to place the bottle on the floor just when he cuts into the room. I place my hands on the armrest to stand and greet him. “Don’t get up.”

Why does it feel as if all the oxygen was sucked out with the click of the door? Stay strong, Ems. Clear my schedule for the party on Saturday. I can do this. I cross my left leg over my right.

“Emilie, Beautiful, I’m so glad to see you made it here today—and looking so delightfully tanned from your recent trips.” As he talks, he makes his way to me, ending by standing behind me, his large hands landing on my shoulders. “Did you have a nice time in Rio and … the Caymans?”

His heavy hands root me to my chair. “Oui. They were good shoots.”

Rose’s bridal shower. I must complain. I open my mouth to amend my response when he leans down. So close I can feel his breath in my left ear.

“That’s what I like to hear.” His fingers squeeze into my flesh—once, twice—making me glad I chose this dress and not one with the cold shoulders. Unsure how to handle him, I remain still. With a sound like a cross between a sigh and a moan, he pats my shoulders and moves around to take his seat behind his desk. I exhale my pent-up breath slowly. Quietly. It is as if time stood still the moment he walked into the office.

What was I going to say?

Picking up a notepad and pen, he peers at me. “Geonna Broz stole your Llitzy House contract so I’m ramping up your game. I’ve got you scheduled to attend a French art gallery opening tomorrow. That’ll be your warm up. After that, there’s a movie premiere Friday night, where you’ll be on the arm of Brandan Rogers, one of the film’s stars. Of course, given the short notice, I couldn’t get you with the leading man, but Brandan’ll look good with you. He’s one of Greta VonStein’s PR clients. I’ve pulled strings to get you added to her roster.”

I remember Greta, Cole’s former rep. She used to be a model who transitioned into a PR mogul years ago. She seemed very sharp the only time I met her, but I understand from Rose that she is not a nice person. I wish I did not have to be aligned with her.

I open my mouth to voice my concern, but he barrels forward. “Now, how’s that Wills guy working out as your bodyguard? Do you want me to switch it up for you back here in LA? I could replace him with someone more Hollywood.”

I grip the water bottle so tightly it crinkles under my hand. I cannot do this without Wills. Since he asked my opinion, he better listen to what I have to say. “Wills is good.” That sounded weak. “I mean,” I clear my throat, “I want him to remain in place.”

He nods. “Okay. We’ll see how he does.” He flips through some pages. “Next week, I got you scheduled for other events. I don’t care if you’re opening a fast food place, I want your face in every tabloid there is. Here’s your dialogue for Thursday’s movie cameo.” He fumbles around his desk for a minute then hands me a sheaf of papers.

“Merci.”

I lean forward. I need to take control here, like Wills was telling me. Never mind the last time I tried to assert myself where my career was involved. That was years ago. I need to tell him—

Monsieur Price interrupts my words before they even form. “Backing up, this Saturday night—”

The anniversary party. I twist my heel into the rug. “I cannot make any appearances on Saturday. I have an engagement.” There. I said it.

His eyes swing to mine, then narrow. He leans forward, placing his hairy forearms on top of the photos on his desk. “Cancel.”

I must stand my ground. “I am sorry, but I cannot.”

He pushes away from his desk and walks around so that he is standing in front of me, leaning back against the desk. His posture seems relaxed, but his nostrils flare like a bull. He peers down at me. “Beautiful, do you want to stay on top?” He pops the “p” of top.

Not liking his power position, I stand. “Oui. But I cannot get out of my Saturday engagement. I already missed one important event that I asked to reserve. I will not miss another.”

His eyes lock with mine, and his finger rubs over his lips. Suddenly, he throws his head backward and laughs. “Feisty. I like that.”

I take a step to the side when he pushes off the desk. When he walks toward his chair, I rub my hands on my arms and wait for him to sit before doing the same.

“Okay, Beautiful, nothing for Saturday.” He puts a line through something on the paper. “Oh, and one more thing before I let you go, do you have your contract signed for me yet?”

His condescending tone makes my spine stiffen. “I have not had a minute to look it over. I just returned from the photoshoot.”

“Well, you still have a few more days. Do you need another copy?”

“No. I have it at home.” Actually, I do need to contact my attorney to see where he is with it.

“Okay, fine.” He drops the notepad onto the top of his desk, his eyes raking me from head to toe. Under his gaze, I swivel my heel on the floor. “Do you have anything else for me?”

My breathing becomes shallow. I miss my own rep. “Have you heard from Stacy? Has she had her baby?”

“Not yet.” He flips his hand into the air.

This meeting needs to end. “Oh, okay,” I stammer and place my Kate Spade tote over my shoulder. “I will look for your email.”

He stands and extends his hand. I cannot avoid shaking it, so I adjust my tote and reach out. His lips form a smarmy smile as he twists my hand in his and brings it up for a kiss. I must not recoil. “I will be in touch.”

I can do nothing more than nod and pull my hand out of his grasp. Without looking back, I take catwalk steps to the door, open it and exit.

“Leave it open.”

Dropping my hand from the doorknob, I continue my path back to reception. What just happened in there? When I finally reach the lobby, Wills sits on a sofa looking out the window at LA. I admire his profile without his noticing me. His perfect Roman nose. The blond hair in need of a haircut. Wide shoulders. The way his hand flexes into a fist and relaxes draws my attention.

“Everything okay, Wills?”

He startles, obviously not having heard my heels clicking on the hardwood floors. “Of course.” He comes to his full height next to me. “How did it go?”

He has enough on his mind—I do not need to add to his worries by telling him Monsieur Price scared me. He really did not do anything to me anyway. “It was fine. I told him I needed to keep Saturday free and he said he would.”

Wills grimaces. “You don’t have to go with me.”

I lace my hand through his arm and steer him toward the elevators, waving at the receptionist. “I want to.”

Before we leave the Agency’s lobby proper, footsteps from down the hall I just vacated reach my ears. “Emilie, wait!”

I suck in a breath, disengage from Wills and turn to face the head of the Agency. “Oui, Monsieur Price?”

He hands me another sheet of paper that contains my schedule for the next month. “Since you were here, I thought I’d just print this out for you.” He eyes Wills and extends his hand. “I take it you’re Wills.”

They shake hands. “Nice to meet you in person, Lloyd.”

“Take care of her out there. The paparazzi can be killer.”

His choice of words is unsettling and my eyes travel to assess how my boyfriend reacts. He remains stoic, like usual.

“She’s my number one priority.”

They nod at each other. Wills and I turn toward the elevators and I make a beeline for the call button. I cannot get out of here fast enough. I fold the paper he gave me and put it into my tote. Even though my head is facing forward, his eyes burn into my back. When the doors ping the cab’s arrival, I walk into the empty space and turn to hit the button for the parking garage. As the doors close, Monsieur Price salutes me with his fingers.

I exhale as we descend to the garage. Next to me, Wills remains silent until we reach the bottom level.

“Everything alright, Ems? There’s something about that guy that rubs me the wrong way.”

He could say that again. I swallow. “Yes. Everything’s fine.” We reach the Jeep and I do not have it in me to drive home, even though he promised me I would make my freeway debut. I hand him the keys.

Wills takes them from my hand and kisses it—the same hand the head of the Agency just kissed. The latter’s lips wash away the former’s, bringing a smile to my face.

“There’s my girl.”

We drive home via the freeway and although I am not the one doing the driving, I actively participate from the passenger side.

After parking in the carport, Wills walks me to my front door. While I fish for my keys, he says, “Zak has to work tonight, so we can’t get together with him. But, I should probably get back to my apartment. I don’t have any clean clothes.”

With his words, my fingers open and I drop my keys back into my tote. “Damn.” I fumble around looking for them again. “I understand. But would you like to share a meal before you go?” I do not want to be alone after that meeting. I just need his reassuring presence with me for a little while longer.

He clears his throat, watching me pull out the keys again. “I guess I could eat.”

Releasing a sigh, I open the door and welcome him back into my house. “Have you seen the pool area? We could order take out and eat back there.”

He chuckles. “Does that mean I get to see you in a bikini again?”

I sway my hips from side-to-side. “Maybe. If you are nice.”

He grabs me by my hips and pulls mine to his. “Oh, I think I know how to be very nice. Don’t you agree?”

“Oui.” I wrap my arms around his neck and claim his lips.

“Let’s order Chinese. I’m in the mood for some sweet and sour pork.” He gives me one more toe-curling kiss, then directs me toward my bedroom. “Go change. I’ll order delivery.”

As I lick the grease from the eggroll off my fingers, Wills says, “I’m glad to see you’re back, Angel.”

I tilt my head. “I have not been anywhere. Well, other than my closet to change.” I run my hands over my barely-there bikini. I love the color of the hot pink crochet top, and the way the bottoms are cut. Such a new take.

He kisses my collarbone. “And I’m glad you did. But that’s not what I meant. Ever since you went in to meet with Price, you’ve been out of sorts.”

I pause mid-lick and wipe my hand using a napkin instead. “Oh?”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

His face falls, but he does not press me. Instead, he cleans up the rest of our dinner and throws it away. While he is doing that, I sit on the side of the pool and dip my feet in. He joins me, nudging my shoulder with his. “Hey.”

I return the nudge. “Hey back.”

“How can I bring your smile back?”

“It is still here.” I smile.

His fingers run over my eyelids. After he kisses each in turn, he says, “But it doesn’t reach here.”

“I have been thinking about what we talked about earlier. About my career.”

He frowns, his eyes tracking the water I displace. “I want you to be happy with your work life. You do know it’s okay to want something different from when you were a teen.”

“I am good at modeling.”

“You’re amazing.” He nods. “But, being good at something does not mean it is a good career choice. For instance, you told me you want more control over your schedule.”

“Well, yes. I need to confer with my attorney about the details of my new contract. Monsieur Price asked me about that today.”

I kick harder. I want to be able to go to bridal showers and anniversary parties and dates with Wills. I want to take part in my life, not send videos and look at important events through photos. How ironic? I have made my living producing slick photos, and now I am reduced to living through them. Not anymore.

Without warning, I slide into the water. Holding my breath, I dunk my entire body underneath and twist so that I am between his legs. Grabbing his knees, I open his legs and pull myself up. As I am in the deep end, I cannot reach the bottom, so I slip my palms up his thighs.

“Ems, what are you doing?”

I need to connect with him. Talking about my future career path has unleashed a sense of anxiety only he can slay. I lick my lips as my hand continues its journey upward. “I am wet.”

He groans, his impressive length growing before my eyes. “Don’t you want to talk about your next career moves?”

“No.” His hips rock toward me, and I cup him over his swim trunks, drawing another groan out of his mouth.

Without warning, he folds in on himself and reaches under my arms, pulling me out of the water in one swift move. I land on his lap.

I capture his mouth before he can say another word about my job. This is not a tender joining of lips. No. Rather, it is hard lips and teeth and tongues tangling. He follows my lead, which drives all thoughts but of him out of my mind.

I push him so he lays back on the towel on top of the patio’s cement. His erection tents his bathing suit. “Let me help you with your little problem.”

He throws an arm over his face. “Not that little.”

“Not at all. Your big problem. Massive.” I wink at him as I reach for his waistband and tug the trunks off his muscular legs.

Before he can move, I lick his tip, savoring the pre-cum that had formed. For me. His back arches at my first taste. “Oh, God, Ems.”

I am in control of all this maleness. I take him into my mouth as deep as he can go. Pulling back, I trace the tantalizing vein, my fingers grazing his balls.

He sits up, his eyes the darkest hue of blue I have ever seen. Suddenly, he stalks me, pushing me back onto the towel and towering over me. Feral. Unbound. Just what I need.

His hands take the two triangles covering my boobs and pulls, untying the wet material. The bottoms follow suit and both land in a pile of useless material somewhere on the patio.

My body warms, not from the weather but the heat we are combusting together. I made him as desperate for me as I am for him. “Wills.”

Teeth bared, he runs them down the column of my neck, not stopping until he reaches my right nipple. He moves to my other nipple while his hand trails down my torso to my sex. He shakes his head. “You’re always ready for me.”

Before I can respond, he pushes all the way inside me, my legs wrapping around his waist. He starts thrusting with our own unique rhythm. He feels amazing. Deep. Different.

“Shit.” He thrusts again. “No.” And again. “Condom.”

No wonder this time feels different. I catch my breath enough to utter, “I am clean.”

“Me too,” he pants, thrusting into me three times in a rapid, shallow pattern.

“I am not on The Pill.” And I cannot get pregnant—I have a career to tolerate. What? No, to maintain. I have a career to maintain. To advance.

Our tempo is lost.

Above me, Wills stops moving, still intimately connected with me. His forehead drops to mine, our rapid breaths mingling. He thrusts once more, then stops. On a long exhale, he pulls out of me and drops to my side.

“Angel, let’s start over in your bedroom.”

He stands and helps me up. His erection—pointing to me as if in accusation—glistens in the moonlight. His fingers make a come hither motion. “Come on. I have condoms in my bag.”

“I have them in my bedroom, too.” I killed our mood. Maybe I can rekindle it right out here. Instead of walking next to him toward the door, I scoot in front of him and drop to my knees, ignoring the pain of contact with the cement.

“What brought this on? No. We’ll go to your bed. It’s okay.”

Tears prick at the back of my eyelids. I cannot even do this for him. “Please. I want—”

He bends down and picks me up. “It’s okay. I want to come inside your delectable body, not your mouth. I’ll make it good for you, I promise.”

He will make it good for me? I rest my head on his shoulder in defeat. “But, I was the one who broke our rhythm.”

“Angel, I’m sorry about the condom. You make me forget who I am. But it’ll be fine. We’ll start all over. I want you so fucking much.” His lips find mine and we cross the threshold into my house.

“I want you more.”

His chuckle comes out as a garbled groan when I kiss his collarbone. Maybe I did not mess things up too badly.

After Wills proves to me, twice, how much I mean to him—even using a condom—I fall into an exhausted sleep, all of my earlier fears driven out of my brain.

Until tossing and turning from the other side of the bed wakes me. Oh no, not again. Wills kicks the sheet free of his body—and mine. I turn the lamp on its lowest setting and then face the writhing man next to me.

He is sweating, his arms and legs jerking. I jump off the bed to avoid a fist to my abdomen. In what I hope to be an authoritative voice, I state, “Wills.”

He says a garbled mass of syllables, pushing at the air. His hand is curled as if holding something. Probably an imaginary gun.

I inhale and try again, with even more force. “Wills. Wake up.”

He stops moving, his chest rising and falling with shorter breaths. He rouses. I place my knee onto the bed and repeat, “Wills.”

His eyes fly open. “Angel.”

Joining him fully on the bed, I wipe the sweat from his brow. “You were having another nightmare.”

He shuts his eyelids tightly, his cheek jumping from the inside.

“You are okay. I am here. Do you want something to drink? Tea?”

He shifts his head on the pillow, head facing away from me. He responds, his voice strangled, “No, I’m good.”

My eyes rake his prone form. The veins in his arms bulge from the tension he just suffered. “Want to talk about it?”

When I am sure he will remain silent like he did before, he surprises me. “It’s the same as always. Starr. Only in my dreams, after she kills my partners, she turns her gun on my sister.”

I gasp. “Oh, Wills. No.” My tears are the only ones that flow.

He huffs out air, raking his hand through his hair, which causes it to stand in all directions. He attempts a laugh, but it sounds more like a stab of agony to my ears.

“I know it’s just a dream. Sorry to have woken you up.” He reaches down and pulls the sheet over our naked bodies and turns to face me. “It’s late. Go back to sleep.”

When I do not move, he kisses my lips. “I’m okay. Really. You don’t have to worry about me. That’s my job to do for you.”

My eyebrows pull together. People in love worry for the other, and I know I love him. The Agency’s admonition not to frown comes to my mind, causing me to smooth out my features. “I want to make things better for you.”

Strong arms come around my body. “You do.”

I tug him to me. I know—know—I do not have the skills to help him overcome his demons. I need to try again. “You should talk with a therapist. I can get you some good recommendations—”

He cuts me off before I can finish my thought. “No. I can handle this.” His voice is hard. Harder than a stage manager’s bark during a fashion week. He reaches over me and shuts off the lamp. “Get some sleep.”

I close my eyes, but sleep eludes me. This conversation is not over.