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and his roommates don’t answer. A door opens next to Dima’s apartment, and an old guy pokes his head out and glares at me.
    All right. Guess I’m not showering this morning. I’ll have to find a public bathroom to at least clean up a little.
    I walk outside and get hit with warm June air despite the early hour. Starbucks is around the corner. After assessing the cash situation in my wallet, I decide to limit myself to only a small regular coffee. I sit down at a table to plug in my phone, and I’m welcomed with several text messages. The first is from Lana, my dad’s assistant.
    LANA: Your father wants to set up dinners for you with a few of his friends. Let me know what your schedule looks like once you’re settled in.
    The second one is from RJ, one of the only friends of mine I still talk to who hasn’t ditched me, whose family hasn’t been ruined by my father’s actions. But lying to loyal, helpful people makes communication with said people a bitch. Well, the guilt is a bitch anyway.
    RJ: Dude, how the hell is Princeton? U so don’t deserve to be there but hope ur having a blast. Maybe I’ll take a train out there sometime soon.
    I almost can’t read the next text after RJ’s, but I haven’t been able to talk to her in weeks, so I’m compelled to see her words at the very least.
    CAROLINE: Heard you left yesterday. You made the right choice, E.
    I stop reading after Caroline’s text, ignoring the three my older sister, Ruby, sent. I rub my temples and try to take in slow deep breaths, pulling my thoughts back to last night. To the calm focused energy I had while my hands wandered over Finley’s body. I think this is going to be my happy place.
    For most of my life, girls have either made me anxious, guilty, nervous, or some combination of those three things. Not that I didn’t enjoy any of those experiences, but the enjoyment came in tiny doses while the rest of my feelings consisted of the previously mentioned anxiety, guilt, or nerves. But last night, with Finley, it hadn’t been like that at all. I worried it would be—and did it anyway. Something about her made me feel important, purposeful. She liked everything I did and told me, straight up. I’ve never had a girl do that before.
    I mean, it would have been nice to get a more positive reaction from her this morning, but then again, this was obviously something new for her. I don’t hate that part. It was a lot of new for me too. Like this modeling job I’m heading to now. Jesus, how the hell did I end up here?

CHAPTER 7
    Finley
    I can’t believe I’m late. How could I not set the alarm? I’m never late. My agent, Kara, is going to kill me. And it’s Marc Jacobs. Granted it’s a lookbook, but still, I haven’t had a job in weeks.
    My first drunken one-night stand, and then I’m late to my comeback job. If that’s not rebellion, I don’t know what is. Summer and Dad will be proud. In fact, I think I may have heard a whistle of encouragement from Summer when she walked past my bedroom door last night.
    My head is pounding. I need some water or coffee or both. I pay the cabbie and rush out the door while working on unknotting the tangled mop at the top of my head until I reach the studio.
    As soon as I’m at the door to the studio, Alan, a man with salt-and-pepper hair, introduces himself as the producer. I rattle off an apology. I’m never late, so excuses aren’t at the ready.
    â€œI’m sor—”
    â€œOne more minute and I would have called your agent.” He turns his back on me and walks off.
    â€œThanks—”
    â€œNot another word,” he says over his shoulder. “Talent’s here! Get her in hair. Hope you got coffee, Eliza. You’re gonna need it.”
    I run my hands through my hair, wishing I’d had time to take a shower. Wait…Eliza is here. I know Eliza.
    I make my way