—JENNIE

..

"So this is where you find all those delicious fruits." Lisa ambles along the stalls of the outdoor farmers' market I've taken her to, her face half-hidden beneath the brim of a faded-green baseball hat.

"Among other places." This is one of my favorite markets, as it's tucked in a valley and shaded by towering eucalyptus trees. "The sellers here always offer the best produce."

Earlier, we went to the doctor's office to have her temporary cast removed and replaced with a soft cast and walking boot. Lisa made an offhand complaint about being cooped up for too long, so I told her to come shopping with me. For all her whining, she wasn't keen on going out in public. Which had me asking if she was a chicken or simply another lazy, pampered star.

At those fighting words, her nostrils flared. "Fine. But we're taking North with us."

"Right." I cringed, feeling like a heel for teasing her. "Security. I just assumed since we're going somewhere unplanned . . ."

"Things can get out of hand when you least expect it," she said tightly.

"I'm sorry I called you chicken."

"But not that you called me lazy?"

"Asks the girl who needs her smoothie brought up to her."

A brief gleam of acknowledgment lit her eyes before fading. "I know it sucks, Jennie. But this is your life now."

My life. Inexorably tied up with her.

All in all, our tentative truce is going as expected. Which is to say, we still find ways to squabble like chickens going after the last piece of grain.

Now, however, she's like a puppy finally let out of her pen.

"It smells so fresh here. Where do you want to go first?" She has a cane—mahogany with an amber top—that she loves because it looks like the one from Jurassic Park. I told her that if she wants to channel her inner John Hammond, she really should be wearing a white suit as well. Unfortunately, she didn't go for it.

"It's your first time here." I put on sunglasses so I can see without squinting. "Have at it."

Smiling wide and joyfully, she takes another survey of the place, then heads for a stall selling fruit and inspects a mango. North keeps an unobtrusive distance away. They warned me that when we went out on the fly like this, North wouldn't be our friend. He'd be working, constantly scanning for trouble.

"Can I have a sample?" Lisa asks the guy manning the stall, a young hipster with a full beard and a tattoo that says "Grow It Green" along his inner forearm.

"Have one on the house, Arasmus."

Upon hearing the name of her character, Lisa does a double take as if she's gauging how intense this potential fan might be. Then her easy good-ole-girl smile is in place. "Kind of you."

That smile used to grate on me like nails ambling down a chalkboard. But there is no denying its efficacy. When Lisa smiles like that, people react.

"Thanks . . . ?" Lisa trails off in question.

"Jed," the seller replies as he takes a mango and begins to prep it, slicing the fruit along each side of the pit and then scoring a crosshatch along each half.

"Jed, I'll share it with my girl here." Lisa grasps my elbow and gently tugs me to her side.

Her girl? I cut her a glance, but she's not looking my way—I can only assume it's intentional.

Jed gives me a quick smile of acknowledgment, but his attention is purely on Lisa. "Man, that scene where you chopped off Thieron's head with one swing of your sword, then gave that war cry and tore his army apart . . . fucking beautiful. You gonna finally marry Princess Nalla?"

"Could be," Lisa says as if she too is speculating. Then she winks. "Or maybe not. You'll have to watch."

Jed beams like it's his birthday. "Knew you wouldn't give up the goods."

"Where would be the fun in that?" Lisa says in good cheer.

Jed asks for a picture with Lisa, and I dutifully use his phone to take a couple of shots of them holding up mangos. Then we're on our way, each of us armed with luscious ripe sections of mango.

"Well, you charmed the hell out of that guy. I'm fairly certain he'll be singing your praises for the next year, at least."

Lisa huffs out a laugh. "Charm? More like bullshit. I'm the queen of bullshit." She says this without a hint of pride or self-pity, so detached she might as well be talking about someone other than herself.

"You always were," I murmur, but without any rancor.

Lisa's coffee-dark eyes are thoughtful. "You're the only one who ever figured that out."

"I'm teasing, Lisa."

She shakes her head, faintly smiling. "No, you aren't. I am the bullshit artist, and you're the one without verbal impulse control."

I stop short. "Verbal impulse control?"

"Don't pretend it isn't true. You blurt out what you're feeling all the time. It was one of the easiest ways I could get to you."

"Oh, really?"

"Yep. All I had to do was push one of your buttons, and I knew you'd give me so much more when you blew."

"You don't have to sound so pleased about it."

She slings an arm around my shoulders and gives me a good-natured squeeze. "Aw, come on, Tot. You're smart as a tack. You knew what I was doing."

Admittedly, I did. I just hadn't known she knew how easily she played me. I should have, though. Lisa is likely one of the smartest people I've met. Strange thing is, I don't think she'd say that of herself so easily.

"Well, shit," I mutter.

Lisa laughs, her head tilting back with the force of it. A couple walking past glance at her, then do a double take. Lisa's hat is low on her brow. But there are those who recognize her anyway.

"Why weren't we always like this?" she asks, studying my face with genuine curiosity. "Why weren't we trying to make each other laugh?"

"Because we were too busy trying to kill each other."

"Time wasted on your part. Clearly, I'm indestructible." She seems pleased with the idea.

The sun is shining, and the air holds a hint of the sea. She still has her arm around my shoulders, her torso pressed against mine. It feels good, this half embrace. Too good. It creates the unwanted illusion that I could rest against her, and she'd hold me up for as long as I needed it. I can't understand this feeling. By all accounts, a half hug from Lisa should put me on full alarm. In truth, I don't think we've ever willingly touched.

I try to think back to a time when we had any prolonged physical contact as kids and draw a blank. Rattled, I step away from the warmth of her arm. She lets me go easily as if this isn't a momentous occasion, and instantly I feel foolish.

Of course it isn't a big deal. People tease and hug each other all the time without any weird ulterior motives. Inwardly, I shake my head at myself and move on.

We stop under the shade of a eucalyptus tree. Lisa takes a bite of mango, licking her lip when juice threatens to roll down to her chin. I'm momentarily distracted by the sight.

"Have you watched Dark Castle yet?" she asks, oblivious to my rapt attention on her mouth.

"Ah . . . not as of yet."

"Not as of yet?" Wry amusement laces her voice. "Is it the sex scenes I'm in or just my nudity in general you're avoiding, Grandma?"

My eyes narrow in a warning that does nothing but make the corners of her eyes crinkle with sly humor.

"Neither." It's both, actually. "I just haven't had time to trudge through two seasons' worth of beheadings, disembowelings, and brothel visits."

I'm clearly not fooling her a bit. "How about I have the studio send over a highlight reel instead?"

"It's almost as though you want me to see your bare ass."

"More like I want to see your reaction to my bare ass," she says with a quick wink.

I huff out a breath. "Juvenile."

"With you? Guilty."

We share a quick grin, but hers fades.

"It's why I went into acting, you know."

I'm about to unwrap my mango half but stop at her words. "You want to explain that non sequitur?"

"The bullshitting. I spent my entire life pretending to be someone else; I thought, why not try it professionally?"

"Pretending?" I repeat stupidly.

Color floods the crests of her cheeks, and she clears her throat. "I was never fully myself with anyone."

My voice comes out as a whisper of sound. "Why couldn't you be yourself?"

"I didn't know how," she says back, just as low. "No one in my house ever did."

Lisa shifts her weight onto her bad leg, winces, then leans back on her good leg. She clutches the smooth egg-shaped amber knob at the top of her cane hard enough to turn her knuckles white. "That's why I loved going to your house. For better or worse, you all were entirely yourselves. It was beautiful and strange to me, as if I was watching a beloved play, but the actors were speaking in a foreign language."

For a moment, I can't move. The crowds of people drift by, and I simply stare at Lisa and wonder if I've ever really seen her. I'd recognize her face anywhere. I used to see it in my nightmares. Though older, her features haven't changed: the same sculpted cheeks, square jaw, and bold, high-bridged nose. The same well-shaped lips that manage to appear both uncompromising and wonderfully soft. She still has a freckle at the corner of her right eye. On a woman it would be called a beauty mark. And yet this Lisa is something entirely different—willingly showing me pieces of herself that aren't perfect.

I want to ask her why her family weren't themselves, why she felt the need to play a part. But it's clear that regret for speaking too freely is creeping up on her, her gaze darting around as though she'd rather look at anything but me.

Whether she wanted to or not, Lisa gave up a private piece of herself. One that I doubt anyone has ever seen. I feel . . . humbled.

"Oh, my family were ourselves all right," I say with a light shrug as if the air between us hasn't become too heavy with old ghosts. "To the point of oversharing. Don't tell me Jisoo never mentioned 'Family Grievance Night.'"

A protracted, shocked laugh escapes her. "No. What?" She grins, easier now. "Do tell, Ms. Kim."

Ordinarily, I'd take the horrors of Family Grievance Night with me to the grave. But she shared with me. I can do the same for her.

"Whenever we started bickering too much for Mama to take, she'd sit us all down as a family, and we had to 'air our grievances.'"

Lisa is clearly a hair's breadth from cracking up. Her eyes are glossy with restraint. "You mean like Festivus?"

I cringe, remembering too well. "But without the pole."

A snort rings out, and she runs her hand over her mouth.

"I'm pretty sure Mama got the idea from Seinfeld. Whatever the case, it never went well."

"You don't say."

"Inevitably we'd end up squabbling so badly that—"

"You engaged in the Feats of Strength?" She waggles her brows, biting her lower lip in an ill-concealed attempt to hold back a full grin.

"Might as well have," I admit ruefully. "Mama would threaten to turn the hose on us and lament about where she went wrong." If I close my eyes, I can picture it now: Mama with her hands on her hips, a frazzled look about her. "I once made the mistake of answering that ending Family Grievance Night would be a good start in fixing the error."

She laughs freely. "Oh, man, I'm so sorry I didn't know this then. I would have found a way to attend."

"I would have been scarred for life if you had." I shake my head. "I can't believe Jisoo never told you."

"Why would Jisoo tell me about it?"

I stop short, my gaze searching her face to see if she's serious. She appears genuinely confused.

"It was a nightmare for both of us. You and Jisoo were in each other's pockets all through childhood. I assumed she told you everything."

The tendon along her neck stands out as she looks away, her brows drawn tight. "Jisoo did most of the talking, and I'd pretend to listen. But it was never about anything personal. She'd complain about her hair or if someone was being a shit to her, and I'd nod along. Truth is, I found her boring as all hell."

My mouth falls open. "But you . . . she . . . God, Lisa. You were with her on and off for years. Why would you do that to yourself if you thought she was boring? Why would you do that to her?"

Her lips curl in a parody of a smile. "You don't get it, Jennie. The feeling was entirely mutual."

"How do you know?" I challenge.

"Easy. She told me."

"Bullshit." Jisoo had thought Lisa was the bomb. She loved Lisa for a time.

She scratches her chin. "Let's see; if I recall, she said, 'I don't particularly like you, Lisa Manoban, but aside from me, you're the best-looking person in this school, so we really should be together.'"

I wince. That sounds exactly like something Jisoo would say. "And you agreed?"

Her nose wrinkles as if she smells something off. "No, I couldn't have cared less what people thought of me. But if I was with her, other girls wouldn't bother to approach me."

Everything in me goes still, and I feel the bottom drop out of my stomach as understanding finally hits. "You're into guys."

"What? No." Her brows wing upward. "Why the hell would you think that?"

I lift my hands in confusion. "You're describing Jisoo as a beard, Lisa. You went out with her to keep girls at bay."

The crests of her cheeks flush again. "Oh, for the love of . . . I did not keep Jisoo around because I secretly liked guys. Jisoo was safe, Jennie. She didn't ask questions, and she didn't really want to get to know me. I was a loner stuck in the role of town charmer. Jisoo suited my purposes because she played the part of devoted girlfriend and kept people from getting too close. That's all."

I really don't want to examine the purely selfish reasons that I find myself relieved to know she's not into guys. But her confession depresses me. "Life isn't a play," I find myself saying. "You don't act out roles in real life."

"Just because you're an open book doesn't mean everyone is." Her brows lower as she leans closer to me. "Most of us pretend to be something we're not. It's only to a select few that we really show our true selves."

"I'm not an open book."

"More like newsprint." She gives me a level look. "I can read you like a headline, Jennie."

I huff out a breath. "Okay, I'm fairly open, but I do get it. Everyone has a public self and a private self. I'm only saying that it's kind of sad, you and Jisoo sticking together for those reasons."

"Why do you think I found you so annoying?" Lisa quips. "Because you damn well knew we were fakers."

I smile, showing teeth. "I thought you two were plastic. Not faking a relationship."

"Brat," she says, amused.

Thing is, I'm amused too. It's easier now, hashing things out with Lisa. Which is a surprise. People grow up; I know that. But usually you're there for the growth, the steady change of character. Seeing is believing. I hadn't been around Lisa for a decade. I hadn't seen the change from girl to woman. And though she might look and act more mature, my instincts react as if no time has passed. My first impulse is to think the worst of her. Only slowly but surely, she's making me reassess that.

Rolling my eyes, I unwrap my mango and take a bite. It's richly sweet and perfectly ripe. Like Lisa, I find myself scrambling to wipe away the juice that runs free.

She watches beneath lowered lids. "Missed a spot." The blunt tip of her thumb brushes the lower edge of my lip, just at the corner—a place I never thought to be particularly sensitive. Yet that small touch sends thick chords of shuddering pleasure through my body.

That damn spot fairly hums now, a little tickle, and it's all I can do not to lick it. Lisa stares at my lips like she knows I still feel her touch. When did she get so close? The scent of her skin and the heat of her body carry on the breeze, moving over me like warm cotton.

I want to lean into that warmth, soak her up. Something catches my eye. North stands a few trees away. I'd forgotten he was here. He isn't watching us—but scanning the perimeter—and is far enough not to overhear. But the sight is enough to snap me out of the haze I'd been pulled into.

I swallow down my bite of fruit. "Don't flirt, Lisa. It won't make me more biddable."

The intensity of her gaze plucks at my skin, but her expression remains neutral. I want to squirm. I'm vastly aware of how well she can read me and wonder what my expression gives away.

But then she simply smiles, all easy and relaxed. "Damn, you caught me out."

I eye her warily because she relented a bit too easily. "Mm-hmm . . ."

She nods in agreement. "It was stupid, thinking you'd fall for that." Her voice lowers as she takes a small step forward. "You're completely immune. Always were."

My voice doesn't appear to be working properly. "Right."

Lisa rests a hand on the tree trunk, her body angling toward me. I press my back to the tree, all too aware that her inner arm almost touches my cheek. God, she has pretty eyes. I have issues.

A smile plays about her mouth as her gaze lowers to my mouth. Her voice pours over me like hot syrup. "Doesn't matter what I say, does it? I could tell you that watching you suck on that juicy bit of mango was one of the erotic highlights of my life. That I want to lick the pink, pouty curve of your lower lip to see if it's sticky sweet."

Gently, she touches the swell of my lip, and I feel it deep within my sex.

"Such a pouty fucking mouth," she whispers. "Always frowning at me with that plump lower lip."

I. Cannot. Breathe. I am flush with fever-bright heat.

And it is all Lisa's fault.

Lisa, who watches as my breasts rise and fall with increasing agitation. Lisa, who makes a pained grumble deep within her throat.

The tips of my breasts graze her chest with each breath I draw. Her own breath hitches, and I make my move, leaning just close enough so that my mouth is by her ear. She doesn't move an inch, but I see the tremor run through her shoulders.

I find myself smiling, though I'm too hot, too weak kneed to be truly amused. "Lisa?"

She makes a sound that is the approximation of "Yes."

I allow myself one nuzzle, the briefest brush of my nose against the curve of her ear—loving the way she tries to suppress a shiver—and then I make my voice hard and firm. "Bugger off."

Lisa rears back as though goosed, her brows raised high in surprise. Her gaze clashes with mine, and then she's laughing—a wry, self-deprecating sound that's just a bit too forced. "For a second, I thought I had you."

"Not a chance," I say, making my own show of laughing the moment off.

But when we resume shopping, walking close enough that our arms occasionally brush, I wonder who is the bigger bullshitter here.

..

The next day, when North pulls around with the car, Lisa tells him we're dining out for lunch. "We"—not her. I don't want to be a "we." I especially don't want to have lunch with her agent. If the one-sided phone conversation I'd overheard is anything to go by, the woman is already dead set against me. Not my idea of a good time.

"No, I have menus to plan and a list of frivolous crap to take care of."

Lisa gives me a deadpan look. "None of the tasks I ask you to do are frivolous."

"Oh, really? Sending some chick a batch of cardamom cupcakes with lavender frosting made by a specific baker that I have to drive all the way out to Laguna Beach to pick up, because of course they don't deliver, isn't frivolous? Hell, I can make those myself. I can even put happy birthday on them in little gold letters like you wanted." Frankly, I'm surprised she hadn't specified what font should be used.

"But they wouldn't be from her favorite baker," she tells me, then makes a sound of exasperation. "She's my makeup artist. The woman I have to spend hours in the chair talking to. She needs to know she's appreciated."

I roll my eyes. "You don't have to bribe people with goodies, Con Man."

"Everyone here does."

"So being yourself isn't enough?"

At that, she shoots me a slanted smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Why, Ms. Jennie, are you saying that my personality is capable of winning people over?"

"You could charm the skin off a snake if you wanted to, and you know it."

Her chuckle is smug, and I turn away to look out the window so she doesn't see my reluctant smile.

North takes us to Chateau Marmont, an old Hollywood hotel that looks like a castle holding court over Sunset Boulevard.

We're whisked to a table on the terrace, nestled between rustling palms and heavy red hibiscus flowers. I want to scoff at the location because it's definitely a place to see and be seen, but it's also lovely in that way of LA restaurants, a secluded little fairyland of grace and beauty.

I order their take on a moscow mule and sit back with a content sigh. Now that I'm far away from the doctor's office and soaking up the warm sun, I'm happy.

The drinks are arriving when a harassed-looking woman in a dove-gray LV day dress hurries over.

"I'm sorry I'm late, darling," she says to Lisa, forestalling Lisa attempt to rise by giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Traffic on the 101 is a beast."

It's always a beast. But I suspect she knows this and is more concerned about making a grand entrance. The woman is tall and thin, her long blonde hair flowing in perfect waves around her face. I know the effort it takes to have your hair turn out that perfectly; either she puts aside a few hours to get ready in the morning, or she has a standing reservation at a salon.

Regardless, I'm impressed and a little envious. I'd resisted washing my hair for as long as possible, but my own blowout gave up the ghost with this morning's shower, and I am not nearly as adept with the flat iron as my stylist. Which means my hair now floats too thick and fluffy around my head.

Rosé takes a seat and plunks her elbows on the table with a dramatic sigh. She's older than Lisa and me, maybe three years, and there's a hardness about her, as though the lines bracketing her mouth were made by frowns instead of smiles. "Well," she says, eyeing Lisa. "You're looking much better."

"Out of the wheelchair, at any rate," Lisa answers before taking a sip of her iced tea.

"Thank God for that," Rosé says expansively. "The studio wants you looking strong and healthy, or they'll start worrying you'll be unfit to play the role."

I frown at the idea that Lisa has to hide the fact that she's been seriously injured. The girl has months to heal, for pity's sake.

I don't realize I'm swinging my crossed leg in agitation until the tips of Lisa's fingers touch my knee. The contact is firm and fleeting, but it's enough to grab all my attention. Abruptly, I halt and uncross my legs.

"Rosé," Lisa says. "This is my new assistant and chef, Jennie."

It's as if I've magically just appeared at the table and she's seeing me for the first time. Her blue eyes do a quick inventory. "I see what you mean," she says to Lisa, dismissing me with a turn of her shoulder.

My eyes narrow.

"Wherever did you find her?" Rosé asks, oblivious.

"976-BABE," I say with a smile.

The entire table seems to freeze, and they all gape at me. But then North swallows down a snort. I stare at them in turn. "Oh, come on. Pretty Woman? 'Welcome to Hollywood! What's your dream?'"

"Yes, dear, I know the movie." Rosé gives me a pitying look. "I simply didn't connect the line with you."

Heat prickles over my cheeks. I know what she sees and what she doesn't. Compared to the stars she works with, I am fairly plain. I don't stand out in a crowd. I don't wear couture or smile on command.

I know this, and yet that doesn't give her the right to treat me like dirt under her shoe. It's taken me years to truly understand that I don't have to take other people's crap lying down.

Wisely, Lisa leans forward, partially blocking my sight line with her shoulder. Or maybe she just wants to create an obstacle between my fist and her agent's face.

"You had a script you wanted to show me?"

Rosé brightens. "Oh my God, do I. This one is top secret, so I really don't want to say too much here."

"North and Jennie will know whether you tell them or not," Lisa says. "Because I will."

Her nose wrinkles. "It involves a particular comic franchise and a new superhero . . ." She trails off suggestively.

"Holy shit," North murmurs, looking impressed.

If it's the franchise I'm thinking of, I am too.

"Marvel," Rosé adds with a little wiggle in her seat. "Can you believe it?"

Lisa sits back and rubs her chin. "No shit." Though her voice is subdued, I can see the excitement she's hiding. It's there if you know where to look, in the slight tremor of her hand that rests in her lap, in the way she holds herself too still. Lisa wants this.

How could she not? If her character becomes popular, she'll be able to write her own ticket. And while Lisa clearly doesn't have to worry about money, the fact that she could command a high salary would equate to power. In La La Land, as my mother continues to call it, power means everything.

Rosé nods slowly. "They're impressed with your work on Dark Castle and have asked for you specifically."

Lisa shifts in her seat. "Okay." She glances at me, and our gazes clash and hold. The restaurant seems to fade, and there is only us, Lisa looking at me as if to say, "Can you believe this crazy shit?" Thing is, I can. There isn't any limit to what this girl can accomplish; I've always known that much.

"Okay," she says again in affirmation, her eyes still locked with mine, and then she turns, and the spell is broken.

A small frown works its way along the sides of Rosé's mouth as she looks at us, but it quickly smooths over, and she puts all her focus on Lisa.

After ordering lunch, Lisa and Rosé map out possible plans to get Lisa the role while North offers training routines he can do with Lisa to work around her injuries.

And I eat.

It's not that the conversation isn't interesting. I simply have nothing to add. Occasionally Lisa asks me to put a date or note down in her calendar. I do but then notice that she appears to have perfect recall of other dates and contract points, and I wonder if she's simply giving me busywork, especially when Rosé tells her that she'll send over all the information anyway.

I'm typing in one such date when Lisa's fork comes drifting over to my plate and spears a piece of my black-truffle arancini. "Hey. Get your own."

She is unrepentant and steals another bite. "But it's so good."

"Then you should have ordered it. Take another bite, and I'm biting your hand."

She goes in for a piece, and a fork duel ensues.

"Stop eating my food."

"But yours is better."

"I know. That's why I ordered it."

"Come on, Tot. Just one more bite."

"No. Eat your damn salad. It's good for you."

"I hate salad. Fuck the salad."

"You first, salad girl."

We're snickering now, our forks clanging as they thrust and parry. A loud exasperated sigh cuts into our fun.

"You're acting like children," Rosé says, wrinkling her nose.

Lisa straightens, her brows drawing together. She looks at her fork as if she's never seen one, her thumb running along the tines. The transformation of her expression is like a slow unfurling, from confusion to irritation to bland remoteness. She sets the fork down and is all business once more. "Jennie brings out the worst in me."

I want to snort but don't. There's something about her manner that makes me feel as though she's set me aside as easily as she did the fork. When am I going to learn? I'm pissed that I forgot how easily Lisa can draw me in, only to drop me off a cliff when I least expect it.

And I'm pissed at myself for feeling chastened by Rosé, of all people.

She gives me—not Lisa—another reproachful look, then turns to Lisa. "You should listen to your assistant. She clearly understands about fattening foods."

Her tone is not kind. And I'm done being polite. Or quiet.

I turn to North, who is sprawled back in his chair, blue eyes alight with undisguised anticipation. An ally I desperately need. "Tell me something . . ."

"Anything, babe."

I kind of love him just then. Because I know, I know, he's calling me babe to irritate Lisa. It's in his eyes and the way his mouth twists to hold back laughter.

"Do agents in this town take Cliché Bitch 101 classes around here?"

A muscle in his lower jaw twitches while Rosé huffs out a sound of annoyance.

"Pretty sure they offer a special discount at UCLA."

We both grin.

"All right," Lisa cuts in. "That's enough."

I shoot her a look. Tell that to Ms. Sunset Boulevard.

And she returns one of her own. Behave.

Make. Me.

Her answering grin is crafty. "Later."

"Later for what?" Rosé demands in a snit.

"To perform my other services." I dab the corner of my mouth. Because fuck her.

Lisa chokes on a sip of her water. North, however, just laughs, a big booming sound.

"I like her," he says to a glowering Lisa.

"Well, I don't," Rosé snaps before leaning into my space. "Watch yourself. I could eat you for breakfast." Her gaze flicks over me. "Well . . . maybe for dinner."

Rage surges up my body. "You can eat a bag of dic—"

Lisa grabs hold of my wrist, gently tugging me back down to my seat. "Apologize." For a hot second, I think she's talking to me, but for once, her laser gaze is on Rosé. "You've been antagonizing Jennie since we got here. Which isn't a good move since she's going to be around for the foreseeable future."

There is a tense silence in which Rosé clearly contemplates swallowing her tongue to avoid speaking. But she does, eventually, spitting out the words between clenched teeth. "I'm sorry if I implied you were anything other than a light meal."

Oh, the things I want to say to that. But it will only make things worse. Still, the evil pixie on my shoulder goads me to give the woman a tepid smile. "Apology accepted. I'm sorry for implying you were a bitch." I should have said it flat out.

A bare nod, and Rosé is back to chatting with Lisa, going on about numbers and scripts she wants Lisa to read.

We're sitting outside in the sunlight, and yet it feels like dark walls are closing in on me. I move to take a sip of my ice water, but a warm weight on my wrist halts me. Lisa is still holding on to me, my clenched fist resting on the top of her thigh. A jolt goes through me, and I tug my arm.

She lets me go immediately, not even looking my way. But I feel the ghost of her touch long afterward, like a phantom, maniacally reminding me that this is my life now, tied to a woman who has been my enemy. We aren't that now. The problem is, I don't know what we are or how I'm supposed to survive living with her.

It stretches out before me like a long gloomy road. A road I put myself on. Damn it. But I can't think like that. Because there is a small silver lining. According to the agreement, if Jisoo returns at any point before the year is over, which she will, then I get paid for the months I've worked—rent-free. I am going to take that money, combine it with the money I've saved, and start my life again. Start a restaurant. Something all mine.

And yet I can't shake the heavy feeling of defeat that rests on my shoulders as North drives us back to the house. Maybe Rosé got to me more than I'm willing to admit.

Lisa sits in the front with North, silent and staring out of the window. North catches my eye in the rearview mirror, and concern tightens the friendly laugh lines around his eyes. Though North doesn't say a word, somehow Lisa senses the direction of North's gaze. Her eyes narrow, and she shoots a glance my way. Whatever conclusion she comes to has her expression going dark. But she sits back in her seat and resumes her brooding out the window. Which is fine by me; I have no desire to talk.

Only I'm not given much of a reprieve. As soon as North drops us at the front of the house and drives off to the garage, Lisa pulls me under the shade of a lemon tree. Those yellow fruits, heavy with juice, dangle over her head like golden raindrops as she starts in on me without pause. "Let's get one thing clear—"

"If this is about not being nice to Rosé, I swear to God, Lisa, I will nut you where you stand and leave you for dead."

A protracted laugh escapes her. "I don't care about Rosé; she was being a shit." She ducks her head so that we're eye to eye, and there's a glint in hers. "And keep my nuts out of this. They're entirely innocent bystanders here."

"They're attached to you, so I call them fair game."

Her eyes crinkle briefly. "You never played fair, Tot."

"Stand back, will you? Your hypocrisy is smothering."

If anything, she moves closer. The scent of lemons mixes with the buttery warmth of her skin. I catch a hint of the mint iced tea she drank at lunch as the deep syrupy roll of her voice touches my ear. "I don't care what you do on your days off—"

"Wait, I actually have days off? Color me shocked—"

I nearly yelp when she tweaks my earlobe with her finger. "Tuesdays and Thursdays, starting next week, brat." Her thumb smooths over my lobe before drifting away. "Now, will you be quiet and let me speak?"

I'm assuming it's a rhetorical question and bite my lip as I angle my head back so I can glare at her properly. Her expression is part aggrieved, part reluctantly amused. But it quickly turns black.

"Your personal life is your own," she bites out. "But North is off limits."

Of all the . . . I'm not remotely interested in North, and I know North isn't interested in me either. Apparently Lisa is clueless. And I have no intention of enlightening the jerk. I suck in a breath, hold it, and let it out slowly. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. I don't need the aggravation of my staff members avoiding each other when the sex goes stale. And believe me, it will."

I want to laugh. I want to slap her face. As it is, my breathing comes on quick and fast. "Which means North is really only off limits while I work for you. Good to know."

A streak of red spreads across the tops of Lisa's cheeks, and I swear the girl growls. It rumbles in that wide chest of hers as her mouth tightens. "He's not for you, Jennie. Unless, of course, you're into having Jisoo's leftovers."

As if I've been slapped, my breath hitches. Oh, that was low. Not only to me but to North as well. My face feels tight and hot. And for an instant, something that looks like guilt flickers in Lisa's brown eyes, but it's quickly smothered by stubborn self-righteousness and a pugnacious lift of her chin.

"Well then," I manage, "I guess that leaves you out of the running too."

The second I say the words, I want them back. Horror whips through me, cold and bright. Why did I say that? Why? Why?

And, God, the smug grin that creeps across her firm lips. Her lids lower a fraction, that smile growing—the picture of a self-satisfied girl. "Nice to know you were considering me, Tot."

With that, she turns on her good heel and gracefully limps back into the house.

..

..

..