"Oh my God, Harry!"

"I know, baby. I can't wait to pack and get back to you."

I know he's smiling, but I need to tell him. I have to. I take a deep breath and spill everything—from the moment Ferguson approached me to now, sitting in my car, struggling to process what just happened.

"Are you still there at the building?"

"I'm in the parking lot, in my car." I clutch the phone like it's my lifeline.

"Okay, calm down and start the car, baby," he says, his voice steady.

"Let me just—"

"I need you to start the car now, Ella. I don't want him to find you there alone, so just get it together, start the car, and go." His tone is firm, no room for argument.

"Okay." I do as he says, connecting the phone to Bluetooth so I can drive with both hands. I might have sounded tough back in Nicholas's office, but the truth is, my hands are still shaking. The whole thing left me rattled, disgusted.

"Ella?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you left the premises? Check your mirrors, see if anyone is following you."

I glance quickly. "No, Harry, there's no one."

"Good. Are you okay, baby?"

"Yeah. I'm fine, just a bit—"

"That fucking piece of shit!" he shouts, and I hear something crash in the background.

"Harry?"

"I'm going to beat the shit out of him!" More rustling, something slamming.

"Harry?"

"I will literally feed him his own goddamn teeth!"

"Harry?"

"He is as good as dead!"

"Harry?"

"Fucking prick! Who the hell does he think he is? Touching my girlfriend like that? I will cut off his hand. No—his dick. I will personally remove his dick and feed him his own nuts for breakfast, with muesli."

Even in full-blown fury, he thinks healthily.

"I will make a granola bar out of them and shove it down his throat."

"Harry!" I raise my voice, trying to snap him out of it.

"Yeah, baby? Are you alright?"

"Calm down, Harry."

"How can I calm down when I literally spoke to this asshole during my contract negotiations a few days ago?"

My stomach drops. "Oh my God, so you already signed?"

I feel completely defeated. I don't even know what I want anymore. I mean, of course, I want Harry to come home—to us, to me—but not like this. Not if it means working under Ferguson. Not if it means he'll kill the guy before his career even takes off properly. Every time something good happens, something else comes along to ruin it. Sometimes, it's our own mistakes; sometimes, it's someone else's. We never seem to catch a break.

"I haven't officially signed yet, but I did sign a preliminary agreement. And I rejected Gucci. They already replaced me. Liam and Nadine are staying in Florence." His voice is heavy, laced with stress.

"When are you coming home?" My throat tightens.

"In four days. I need to pack and ship my things before I fly out. The moving company is coming Wednesday."

In my head, I start counting the hours, the minutes, the seconds.

"Promise me you won't do anything, or call anyone, until we talk in person."

"Ella—"

"Promise me!" I demand, louder this time.

A pause. Then, softly, "I promise."

"Good. I don't want you throwing away your future over someone else's mistakes."

"You should report him," he says firmly.

"It's his word against mine."

"So what? You're just going to let it go?"

"We'll figure it out when you get here."

"Okay, baby. Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah. I am," I say, and for once, it's the truth.

"I love you, baby."

"I love you too."

"To the moon and back."

"Me too."

"And then back to the moon and back here again."

I laugh at his sweetness, which only encourages him more.

"And then back to the moon, to the furthest planet out there—"

"Harry."

"What?"

"Hurry back, will you?"

"Okay. Now go to Jimmy's, alright?"

"I will. Love you. Bye."

"Bye, baby... and then back here, to the spaceship that's—"

"Bye, Harry!"

When I gather the gang at the café, everyone knows something is off. My invitation was weirder than Lady Gaga's meat dress.

"So what happened?" Ed asks the second he sits down.

"Did you get the gig?" Chrys follows.

"I need coffee," Gemma announces. Then, turning to Niall, who has just sat down, she adds, "Niall, please get me some coffee before you get comfortable."

"Sylvia's parking her car," Chase chimes in, dropping into a seat beside Ed.

Jimmy takes his usual spot on the sofa, uncharacteristically silent.

Within minutes, they're all here—the people I trust with my life, the ones who always have my back. And now, they're staring at me, waiting. So I tell them.

"Turns out, your definition of an art director was spot on," I say, my voice deceptively calm as I tear off a piece of my cinnamon bun.

Ed's eyebrows shoot up.

"I guess I can eat these again," I add with a smirk, eyeing him as I take another bite.

"What do you mean?" Chase asks, slightly out of the loop. But when he sees Ed's eyes bulging, he gets the hint. "Wait... what does she mean?"

"Uh... 'boob squeezer' and 'ass grabber' were pretty accurate," I say, deadpan.

Chaos erupts.

Swearing. Yelling. A whole lot of name-calling. Gemma somehow ends up with her own coffee, despite her earlier demands. Everyone is pissed. Everyone—except Jimmy.

"Was anyone else there?" His voice is low, quiet.

"Not in the room with me, but his assistant was still on the floor when the shoot ended," I answer. "She was supposed to tidy up before she left."

The rest of them are looking back and forth between us, trying to figure out why Jimmy sounds so... calculated.

"Is she like his PA?" he murmurs.

"Yeah?" My response comes out more like a question. I'm still processing how that sleazy bastard had the nerve to touch me.

"What's her name?" Jimmy asks, his tone almost unreadable.

"For the love of God, man, speak up!" Niall exclaims, making us all jump.

"Cindy. I don't know her last name, and I am never going back there to find out," I say firmly, shaking my head at the disgusting thought of ever facing Nicholas again.

Jimmy doesn't react, just turns to Niall. "Is there a laptop or tablet we can use?"

Niall is already on it.

"Babe, grab me a cookie while you're up," Gemma calls out casually.

We all turn to her, stunned.

"What?" she shrugs.

Niall comes back with a tablet, handing it to Jimmy, who quickly types something into Facebook. A few searches later, he smirks, turning the screen toward me.

A profile appears—Cindy, Burberry, all smiles.

"Is this her?" he asks.

I nod. "That's her."

"Alright," Jimmy says, snapping a photo of the screen with his phone. "I'll reach out to her and see what she knows. I'll have answers by tonight."

Chrys frowns. "How are you going to make her tell you anything? She doesn't even know you."

The entire table turns to stare at her. Even Sylvia snorts.

Does she not realize who we're dealing with? Just because the girls sitting here are immune to his charm—one because she doesn't swing that way, one because she's his best friend's sister, one because she's his best friend's girlfriend, and the last because she's... well, oblivious—doesn't mean the rest of the female population isn't affected by him.

I mean... look at him.

OK. Case closed. So we agree to meet before work and discuss things over. Chase will come later at the club and Sylvia we will call with what we find. I leave the cafe a bit hopeful that maybe Cindy will be able to help us because I know that Jimmy will work his magic. Isn't it unfair how my boyfriend and best friend are simply breathtaking? Yeap it is but if it makes you feel any better they are horrible at Algebra so there you go. The world is fair once more.

OK. Case closed. We agree to meet before work and go over everything. Chase will join us later at the club, and Sylvia will be on standby—we'll call her with whatever we find out.

I leave the café feeling hopeful. Cindy might actually be able to help, and if anyone can get answers from her, it's Jimmy.

Honestly, isn't it unfair how both my boyfriend and my best friend are just breathtaking? Life really should have balanced things out. But if it makes you feel any better, they're both absolutely horrible at algebra. There you go. The world is fair again.

"Stop playing with the bottles and tell me what happened," I demand the second I see Jimmy casually stacking liquor bottles like he doesn't have a single worry in the world.

"What do you mean, what happened?" He smirks, fully aware of what I mean.

"Jimmy, quit it! Tell me before the music gets too loud," I nudge his arm playfully, trying to get him to focus. He bats his eyelashes dramatically, smiling like an idiot.

"You shit! What did you find out?" My grin is just as wide as his now, anticipation bubbling in my chest.

"Enough to make Mr. I-can't-get-it-to-work-without-being-a-perv sweat," he declares smugly, "or even better—pee his pants."

I could scream. Relief floods through me, the weight of what happened finally starting to lift.

"Please tell me," I beg.

"So it turns out Mr. Ferguson has a long history of this crap. Cindy has names. Some of the girls might not be willing to testify, but they are willing to contact Christopher Bailey, the CEO of Burberry, and tell him exactly what's been going on. So tomorrow, Cindy and I are putting a strategy together." He looks ridiculously proud of himself, and honestly, I love him for it.

"Oh my God, Jimmy, I could just kiss you! You're the best!"

"Any exchange of saliva or other bodily fluids with Harry's girlfriend is strictly forbidden under the Bro Code," he announces loudly, just as the music starts picking up.

"Bro Code?" I raise a brow.

"Yeah, Barney's—oh, forget it," he sighs in exasperation, but I see the grin tugging at his lips.

I jump forward and wrap my arms around him. He groans dramatically, pretending to hate it, but I know better.

"You're ruining my sex life! Get the hell off me!" he complains, chuckling.

This crazy, goofy giant has done it again. My handsome, ridiculous, gentle hero. My friend.

"Thank you," I mouth before heading back to work.

He just nods.

I've always had guy friends, but none as loyal or as kind as Jimmy.

Harry—I love Harry. He's it for me. But Jimmy? He's family. Not just to me, but to all of us.

And that is priceless.

 A few days go by, and finally—finally—Harry is home. I've missed him so much it's ridiculous. The second I see him at the airport, my heart threatens to escape my chest, like it wants to run straight to him and nestle in his pocket, where it belongs. And honestly? He can do whatever he wants with it—it's his.

I launch myself into his arms, and his lips find mine, and just like that, I'm home again. The butterflies, the spiders, the caterpillars—the entire insect kingdom is throwing a junior prom in my stomach.

"Babyyyyyyy," he drawls, his voice drenched in warmth as he kisses me again and again.

We have lunch at a nice restaurant, and even though he's demanded every last detail a thousand times already, I tell him everything again.

When I get to the part about Ferguson getting fired—and Cindy taking over his position—I see this huge, adorable grin stretch across his face. And, well, I could keep my hands to myself... but why on earth would I want to?

(And yes, I had to.)

We actually manage to get through dinner without jumping each other right then and there on the restaurant table. (Honestly? A miracle.)

Then Jimmy calls. After a quick exchange, Harry tells me he and Jimmy have to go take care of something—but refuses to say what. I know he's scheduled to meet with Christopher at Burberry that afternoon, but why would he take Jimmy with him?

Is he trying to get Jimmy signed too?

I decide to let it go (for now) and make plans to meet Chrys and Sylvia at Gemma's place instead. I also make plans to spend the afternoon playing with little Natalie while my friends sit around, sipping tea like posh grandmas. Typical.

Harry agrees to meet me there once he's done.

The afternoon flies by. Turns out, running after a child while the rest of your friends lounge around gossiping makes time pass shockingly fast.

By the time I've finally tucked Natalie in and start heading downstairs, I freeze mid-step.

Gemma is sitting at the kitchen table. With an ice pack. On Jimmy's hand.

"What happened?" I whisper-shout, careful not to wake Natalie.

Harry is sprawled on the sofa, looking suspiciously smug, gesturing for me to sit on his lap.

"Jimmy had an accident," he says, barely containing a laugh.

"What kind of accident?" I narrow my eyes, confused.

"Ferguson's face accidentally bumped into his fist," Harry says, completely deadpan.

"What?" I stare at them both, my brain short-circuiting.

"I finally punched someone," Jimmy grins, shaking out his sore knuckles.

"I was going to, but he beat me to it," Harry says, sounding way too impressed.

"You had a meeting with Christopher!" Jimmy explains. "You couldn't exactly add 'punching ex-art director' to your resume, now could we?"

Harry just giggles. Like a schoolgirl.

"Why are you laughing?" I glare at him. "He could press charges! Why am I the only one who doesn't find this funny?"

Harry waves me off. 

"He won't," Jimmy says confidently. "Cindy has too much dirt on him. And Cindy and I? We're like this." He crosses his fingers.

"Since when?" I demand.

Jimmy sighs dramatically. "You know, Ella, I just don't get it." He shakes his head in mock disappointment.

"Get what?" I ask, exasperated.

"Ella gets all the attention," he sighs. "I mean, I have been interviewed so many times. I've gotten so many gigs over the years."

"And?" I prompt.

"And nothing," he says, throwing his arms up. "Not one tiny shag. Not even an itsy-bitsy blow job. Not even a friendly little nut grab." He clicks his tongue, shaking his head.

The room erupts in laughter.

I fold my arms, not letting him off the hook. "You are not getting away with this." I narrow my eyes. "What happened with Cindy?"