Shaking and teary-eyed, I walk out of the police station alone, cursing Victoria, cursing Griffin and cursing the leering man who probably is waiting for a friend to be released from jail. Or maybe he was just released from jail and likes hanging around.

I shoot flames at the guy with my eyes while summoning an Uber ride and checking to see if everything's still in my purse. It is.

Finally, the car arrives, and I ignore the driver's questions about why I'm at the police station so late.

It's sunrise, and all I want is to sleep. I'm still vibrating with rage as I shower off the dank mildew smell of the jail. Victoria's not home, of course. I suspect she's locked up — and wonder how much evidence authorities have on her.

Despite my anger, I feel a twinge of concern. More than a twinge, actually. I can't help it. She's been my best friend for three months.

Three texts and two calls to her number goes unanswered. Another jolt of fear goes through me. If she's in jail, are officers monitoring who calls her. I toss the phone a few feet on the bed.

But calling my roommate isn't a crime. I sit in my bed, chewing on my cheek. If anyone can get out of jail using their wits, it's Victoria. If I don't hear from her by this afternoon, I'll call the jail and see what I can find out. Would I have to post bail? Is that how someone gets out of jail?

I click off the light and try to sleep, but I'm too wired.

And that's when the memories hit, probably a function of my brain blocking out the night's awfulness. Memories of Griffin, and of nights so sweet and pure that they make my stomach hurt to think about them now.

Especially now. I'm a different person, Griffin's dead, I was just arrested. And I'll never get that sweet feeling back. The innocent Juliette is gone.

"Why do you want to be with me?" I'd whispered to Griffin one morning, as we lazed in this very bed, under these very sheets.

He kissed my forehead tenderly.

"Because you make me feel good. And I hope I make you feel equally as good. It would kill me to find out that I was hurting you in some way, or disrespecting you."

Well, he's hurt me. More than he'll ever know.

I drift away into sleep, wishing for the millionth time that his arms were around me, making me feel safe and loved.

* * *

Juliette, come out here!

Griffin's standing on the balcony, calling my name. I'm studying on the bed and look up.

Juliette!

I close my book and pull aside the gauzy curtains separating the bed area from the living room. I can see Griffin on the balcony, his broad shoulders in silhouette against the bright Miami sky.

His back is to the railing and he's looking at me through the floor to ceiling windows. I pause and stare at him, because he's so beautiful. That deep brown hair, those topaz eyes. He's grinning at me, looking self-assured and a little naughty and so delicious. His grey T-shirt stretches across his chest muscles, and he's wearing those black jeans I like.

As I'm staring at him he rests his palms on the balcony rail, the hoists himself up, his arm muscles bulging.

What's he doing? We're twenty-one floors up! He's sitting there as if he's casually on the sofa.

"Griffin!" My heart slams against my ribs as I make my way to the door.

Just as I fling it open, he leans back, as if about to do a spin on a gymnastics bar. He's still wearing that cocky grin on his face.

I scream his name again and reach for him.

But before I can grab him, he tumbles over the rail. I rush over, screaming, and I watch him fall backwards, to the pavement below.

"Juliette! wake up!" You're having another nightmare!"

I snap my eyes open and sit up, sobbing.

"Victoria! Where were you? Were you arrested? Is Griffin dead?"

I'm babbling and crying now, and Victoria takes me in her arms and rocks me. She's still in her sparkly silver dress and smells like cigarette smoke, mold and a faint, expensive perfume.

"Yes, I was arrested. Fucking shit," she sounds more annoyed than anything, as if they didn't have her favorite bagel in the corner deli. "I heard they got you too. I'm sorry. Things got all fucked up and they thought one of my girls was you."

I sink back onto the pillow, more exhausted than when I went to bed. I don't have the energy to ask how things got all fucked up.

And I kind of don't even care, that's the worst part. It's enough that she's home.

"I need more sleep," I mumble.

Victoria pats my leg. "Poor thing. Yes. Sleep. We'll have brunch later and I'll explain everything."

I grunt, wondering why she is so blasé about a prostitution charge. Victoria's like that, though—hard and nonstick. I have zero doubt that she'll beat the rap.

I'm drifting back asleep when I hear a shriek from the kitchen. I bolt out of bed, only to find Victoria, hunched over the kitchen island, newspaper in hand.

"What? Why are you screaming?"

Victoria looks up, her red hair wild and untamed. "We're in the paper."

"What?" I walk over and grab the newspaper from her. It says 'late edition' at the top of the page. We aren't normally the kind of people to even read newspapers, but that's one of the perks of living in this building, a free Miami Herald. And so, we sometimes read it.

I scan the page. "Where?"

Victoria taps with a pink tipped finger to a small brief at the bottom of the page.

HIGH CLASS ESCORTS ARRESTED IN MIAMI BEACH LATE FRIDAY NIGHT

And there, in the last paragraph, is my name.

* * *

I spend the next week seething. First thing Monday I call Detective Jemison and demand she contact the newspaper and ask for a correction. By Wednesday, there's been no correction, and I call the paper and yell at three people, including an editor. By Thursday morning, there's a correction, buried deep inside the paper in tiny print.

"No one's going to see this," I wail to Victoria as I slap the paper on the kitchen table. She's drinking coffee. "I'll never get a job. Maybe I should change my name. Can I sue?"

She waves her hand in the air. "Don't worry about it. No one will ever know. It's not like there's an actual arrest on your record."

Of course, she can be dismissive about my situation, given that she's facing a long prison stint if convicted. But she's got a great lawyer, and has dropped hints that she's even sleeping with him in exchange for extra "representation." I don't ask for more details because I don't want to know.

I'm still pissed at her for getting me into this mess, although she's begged for forgiveness multiple times. She suspects another escort is the informant and falsely snitched me out to the cops. The woman is a cokehead who had a crush on Griffin years ago, Victoria claims.

Ultimately, it's my own bad judgment for living with her and being caught up in this shit. And yet, Vee's the only person I trust in this city. And she's my link to Griffin, and the past.

So my anger eases. At least toward her.

I reserve most of my rage for myself. During my sleepless nights, I think about going to Jacksonville to live with Mom and Ash. But every time I consider doing that, I get a dull ache in my chest. I don't want to leave Miami.

Griffin's city.

I want to succeed here on my own. I've already been through so much. I'd managed to get straight As last semester, miraculously passing my exams after Griffin died. Every day I'm still standing and sane seems like a victory. Every day gets a fraction of a percent better.

If I want to be free from all this pain, I have to ignore my broken heart and move on.

"I definitely a job," I muse to Victoria on Friday morning. She's sitting cross-legged on the sofa, wearing glasses and doing Sudoku. I find it secretly endearing that she loves the numbers puzzle and is excellent at it.

"Maybe that would help channel my anger. Because kickboxing classes aren't cutting it."

She looks up and pushes the tortoiseshell glasses up her nose. Somehow she's even more of a sexpot in glasses. I marvel at this daily.

"Those classes are giving you an incredible fucking body, though. You've even lost weight."

I roll my eyes. "Griffin liked me bigger—"

She interrupts me. "It doesn't matter what he liked. What matters is that you're healthy. And happy. And that you look stunning. When are you coming out with me? How about tonight?"

"I thought you were on house arrest?" The judge in Victoria's case had put some pretty strict rules about where she could go, and what time she had to be inside at night, when she set bail.

"Attorney-client meeting." She leans forward, grinning and stirring her coffee. "Javier is taking me to The Forge for dinner. But you can come along, of course. We need your brilliant mind."

It's kind of stunning how she doesn't seem concerned about a felony charge, but that's Vee. I'd be in a fetal position in bed if I'd been accused of something so serious.

"I wouldn't want to interrupt such an important legal strategy meeting," I quirk an eyebrow and we both giggle. "Besides, I have a paper due in my chem class."

She rolls her eyes.

I pour myself a cup of coffee. "Help me out here. Where should I apply for a job? At one of the restaurants? That would be good for me. Get out and talk to the public."

Victoria wrinkles her nose. "That seems so pedestrian. And it will cut into your social life, when you decide to go out again. What about an office? Something after class, during business hours. So you're not exhausting yourself and dealing with a bunch of asshole tourists."

"Hmm. An office." I tap my fingernails on the counter. "Maybe like a medical office, something to prepare me in my field. Do you think they'll find out about the article in the paper?"

"Mmmhmm." Victoria's absorbed in her puzzle and I can tell she's not listening. "I mean, no, they won't find out. Or show them the correction. Eh, no one will care. You're gorgeous, that's all they'll see."

Grunting at her superficial assessment of hiring practices in Miami, I take a sip of coffee. It's nine-thirty in the morning, and I do a quick mental calculation.

It's three-thirty in Europe. This reminds me to check my cell and I go to my purse. Despite all of my anger, I still check my phone every morning, wondering if Griffin's called. It's irrational, but a broken, desperate part of me has never lost hope.

Of course, he hasn't called. And like every other day for the past three and a half months, the ruins that were my heart crumble a little more. I've got to stop putting myself through this torture every morning.

Sighing, I throw the phone in my purse. My hand comes into contact with a business card floating around the bottom of the bag. I pull it out.

Dr. Sebastian Engel

"Hey," I call out, turning to Vee. "I think I know who I can call."

She looks up, confused. "Who? For what?"

"For a job, silly. Sebastian Engel. The guy who vouched for me, so I wouldn't be arrested. I should call to thank him at the very least. But maybe I can ask him about working at one of his clinics. A paid internship or something."

"Yeah, sounds better than waiting tables." She yawns.

I head into my room and dial Dr. Engel's cell. His deep, German-accented voice answers on the third ring.

"Hi. Sebastian? Dr. Engel?" I force myself to make my voice sound bright and peppy.

"Yes. Who is speaking?"

"Juliette Phillips. We spoke at the school party. And you also told police I was there that evening. I wanted to thank you for doing that. It was a really terrifying experience, being under arrest and innocent. I'm sorry I dragged you into the whole mess."

I press my palm to my forehead. My skin is hot to the touch, probably because I've never been so mortified in my life. I just thanked someone for saving me from arrest. Calling him was a terrible idea. A new low. I hold my breath.

"No need to apologize, Juliette. I can imagine you were afraid. I'm glad I answered the phone. Normally I don't after a certain time at night."

There's a thick pause and I exhale.

"Well, I wanted to thank you and formally apologize for disrupting your evening so late. You really saved me from a bad situation. And, I'm not guilty, you know."

I cringe and screw my eyes shut.

"You are very welcome, my dear. And of course you're not guilty. I don't think you have a guilty bone in your body."

His voice is surprisingly warm, considering he's talking to a freak who called him out of the blue. Oh well, might as well go for broke.

"I also was calling to find out if your clinics have any part time openings. I'd like to start my medical career and wondered if you might have something that could put me on that path. Maybe a paid internship, a part time receptionist, anything?"

"Mmmm," he says, his hum a low buzz. There's another pause, and I'm about to say that I understand if he doesn't have anything available, when he speaks up.

"You know, Juliette, I believe I might have an opportunity for you. I'm glad you called, because I was thinking about you just the other day and was hoping I'd run into you again. Would you be willing to have dinner with me Friday evening, so we can discuss this?"

"Ah..." my voice trails off. I can picture him smiling that wolfish grin. Something about the tone in his voice tells me this is slightly more than a business meeting. Something extra. Not a casual dinner between a professor and a student.

Griffin would warn me to stay away...

I shove that thought aside. He betrayed me by going to Amsterdam for a drug deal. He put himself in a dangerous position, got himself killed, and broke my heart. He doesn't deserve to occupy space in my head.

I want more out of life than a dead drug dealer boyfriend and a broken heart. I need a different path, and hearts have no place where I'm headed.

"I would love to have dinner with you," I purr. "What time should I be ready?"

____