Bancroft will be back in little more than three weeks and I’m still minus a job. It’s not good. The envelope of cash—which contained the full five weeks’ worth of my stipend, well, double it, but it’s not my fault if his math is off—helps a lot, but I need to pay down my bills and save for an apartment. I have another audition lined up in two days, but with the way things are going, I’m worried I’ll bomb this one, too. The only thing I seem to be good at is taking care of Francesca and Tiny.

I almost caved when I spoke to my father earlier in the week. He asked how things were going and if I’d sorted out my apartment situation. I played dumb and asked him what he meant. Apparently, his brainless secretary told him I’d called about my bank account even though I’d said she didn’t need to. There was no way I was going to admit to not being able to take care of the situation on my own. I’m not at point critical quite yet. It’s close though.

I kick off my shoes and cross over to Francesca’s cage. A few days after Bane left I moved it to the main living area, which is where it stays for the most part. She’s already scaling the bars, jumping around and doing tricks for me.

“Hi, pretty girl,” I coo. “Did you miss me today? I missed you!” I unlatch the cage and lift her out. She cuddles into me, nuzzling into my cleavage like she’s looking for snacks. It’s her signature move every time I pick her up, as if she thinks I’ll have lost food down there. She’s a bright light in my otherwise shitty day.

I carry her down the hall, exhausted and defeated, looking for anything that will brighten my spirits. I grab my phone on the way, in case we end up chilling out and watching movies. It’s probably one of my favorite things to do, especially after a long, crappy day. Francesca loves nature documentaries and she’s great company when I watch horror movies.

I pass my own bedroom and keep going. In the past two weeks, I’ve only slept in my room once. That was the first night I stayed here. Half of my boxes still line the wall, unpacked. A constant reminder that I need a job, any job, and soon.

I push open the door to his room. The bed is made, because it’s so much more fun to mess it up when it’s already perfect. Last week I relented and changed the sheets, because they were smelling less than fresh, but I sprayed them with Bancroft’s cologne so they still smelled like him. It’s not authentic, but it’s kind of the same. I refuse to acknowledge that it’s a little creepy, this behavior of mine, but I tell myself it’s for the benefit of Francesca so she doesn’t think he’s abandoned her.

I put her down on Bancroft’s bed and she does her little nose twitch-sniffle thing, bouncing around, waiting for me to start the game. I’m tired and grumpy, but this at least will put me in a semi-better mood. I pull the sheet up over her and she makes this little noise of excitement. We play for a good fifteen or twenty minutes, until she’s had enough and all she wants to do is cuddle.

It’s just after six, but I didn’t sleep well last night and the failed audition and unsuccessful attempts to secure employment exhausts me, so I turn off all the lights and find a good horror movie. Sometimes torture and fear are a good way to remind me my life isn’t so bad.

I don’t even have the energy to consider making dinner. Francesca wriggles her way under my shirt and peeks her head out through the neckline. She likes being close to my boobs, right in the valley. I let her snuggle in and close my eyes. I just need a few minutes to manage the disappointment.

Digital ringing pulls me from sleep. I blink a bunch of times, trying to throw off the haze. I realize the sound is coming from my phone. I check the clock. It’s 8:03. At night. Shit. Bancroft said he’d call at seven and he’s prompt with phone calls, which means he’s been trying to reach me for the past hour.

I fumble around and hit the answer button, my uncoordinated fingers struggling to grab hold of the device.

“Ruby? Are you there? Ruby?” Bancroft’s concern is clear in his tone.

“Here.” I rasp. “Fell asleep. Sorry. Here now.”

“Is the connection bad? I can’t see anything.”

The room is dark. I didn’t even manage to start the movie, apparently. “Hold on.” I reach across for the lamp on the side table and flick it on. The brightness blinds me and I drop my phone on the bed, rubbing my eyes for a second. I glance around, looking for Francesca, but I don’t see her right away.

“Ruby?”

“Right here. I’m so sorry, did you have to call a bunch of times?”

“Uh . . . just a few. Is everything okay? Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m good. Fine. Just a long day. How are you?” I finally focus on the screen, not my surroundings. Bancroft is in a bed. Shirtless. In a bed. His hair is wet, like he’s fresh out of the shower. Did I mention he’s in bed. Shirtless?

I can see myself in the tiny screen in the corner. I look like a bag of dog poop. My hair is all over the place. I have crease lines in my face from the pillow.

Bancroft’s brows come down. “Where are you?”

“Huh?” I ask, because the answer to that question isn’t exactly one I want to give or explain.

He tilts his head to the side. “Are you in my bedroom?”

“What?” Panic flares for a second as I struggle to come up with a reason for my being in here.

“You’re in my bed.”

Oh Jesus. Is he mad? His eyes are dark. Although the room he’s in is not well lit, so that could totally account for the whole darkness aspect.

“I, uh . . . I was cleaning and I moved Francesca in here and then we were playing hide in the sheets and I must’ve fallen asleep and I’m sorry about that. I’ll wash your sheets.”

A smile quirks the corner of his mouth. “You don’t have to apologize for playing with Francesca. How’s my girl?”

For a very brief moment I think he’s referring to me as his girl, but then I realize he’s asking about his pet, who is nowhere to be found. “She’s good. We were cuddling and I fell asleep.”

“Where is she now?”

“Um, hold on.” I put the phone down so all he gets is a view of the ceiling. Then I hop off the bed and call Francesca’s name a couple of times. I look under it, because that’s a logical place for her to be.

“Ruby?”