Chapter 1

"Please. Is there any other way?" I asked the cabbie for the third time. For sixty minutes, the meter had ticked while we crawled barely a kilometer. At this rate, New York City would be swallowed by night before I arrived.

Night. Even after three years of therapy, the darkness felt like a closing trap. My plane was late, and as I watched the sun dip toward the skyline, my pulse began to drum against my ribs.

"Madame," the driver retorted in a sharp local accent. "If you know a way to make this car fly, tell me. Otherwise, stop scowling."

I sank into the seat. "I’m sorry. If I don’t report to my agent by sunset, I lose the only room I could afford. I'm... I'm down to my last cent."

Think of the devil, and the devil calls. My phone shrieked, the volume nearly rupturing my eardrums.

"HELLO?" Adam’s voice boomed.

"Hey," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant while moving the phone away from my ear.

"FINALLY. Where are you, Grace? You better have a solid reason, or this room is gone."

"Adam, the flight was delayed. I’m in a jam. Jonathan says we’re an hour out." I chirped the lie, winking at the driver who glared at me through the rearview mirror. "Please, hold it. You know my situation. Where will I go with this leg?"

I hated playing the "broken" card. I hated the pity it invited, but this was survival.

"Who the hell is Jonathan?"

"The cabbie," I muttered sheepishly.

"Fine. One hour, Grace. If you aren't there by dark, I’m giving the keys to the next person on the list." He hung up. Jerk.

"My name isn't Jonathan," the driver snapped. "And I never said one hour. This is New York; you can’t predict the beast."

I rolled down the window, the humid city air hitting my face. I wasn't going to cry. I had to be strong. I couldn't stay a "precious object" in my mother’s house forever, watching her work three jobs to keep me in bandages and bitterness. She’d given me her savings for college; I owed her a future.

An hour later, Peter—the artist formerly known as Jonathan—killed the engine. The street was dim, the neighborhood looking a bit frayed at the edges. A tingling sensation hit my nerves. Calm down, Grace. "There you go, Madame. You’re lucky we made it."

He handed me my crutches. I paid him, we exchanged stiff smiles, and I stood alone. My new life.

**

My leg protested immediately, a dull throb radiating from the hip. I balanced on the crutches, waiting for the blood to flow, then dragged my suitcase toward the shabby two-story building. I’d chosen a ground-floor unit for obvious reasons. It wasn't luxury, but it was mine.

I was fumbling for the keys when my phone buzzed again. Adam.

"I'm at the door," I exhaled. "I made it."

"Lucky girl. I almost gave the spot away."

"No, you wouldn't have."

"Maybe not," he sighed, and I heard that dreaded note of pity in his voice. "I know how much you need this. Call me tomorrow for the rent details."

I disconnected, mentally hugging myself. I was doing it. I fished the keys from my backpack and stepped inside.

**

The lights were already on. The space was decent—a worn sofa, a small dining table by a fireplace, and a dusty rack near the window that screamed 'bookshelf.' But there was no TV. I frowned; my Vampire Diaries marathons would have to wait.

I dropped my bag, but froze when a song began to blare from the back of the apartment.

"Every breath you take... I’ll be watching you..."

The lyrics hit like a punch. He used to sing that to me. I shook the memory away. Someone was here. My roommate wasn't supposed to move in until next week, but maybe she’d arrived early?

I moved toward the kitchen, my crutches clicking softly on the linoleum.

I rounded the corner and a squeal died in my throat. My hands flew to my mouth. I wasn't looking at a "she."

I was looking at a broad, naked back.

I’d seen men in movies, but this was... different. This was a landscape of muscle and ink—a massive tattoo spiraling from his shoulder down a heavy bicep. His skin glistened with sweat under the fluorescent light. My stomach did a slow, dizzying roll.

"See something you like?"

He turned. My eyes betrayed me, roaming from the dangerous 'V' of his hips to a pair of sinful grey eyes. He dipped a finger into a pot on the stove and licked it, his grin sharp and knowing.

Holy moses. I was dead.

**