[Daisy Miller's POV]
That alarm ringing on my bedside table was deadass the worst sound I've ever heard. It didn't just wake me up; it ruined my entire vibe before I even opened my eyes. Typical Monday in New York. God, I hate it here sometimes.
I yawned and stretched, but a sharp spike of pain shot through my skull. "Ugh, my head is killin' me," I groaned, clutching my temples. What did I drink last night? Battery acid?
I fumbled for my phone and checked the lock screen. My heart straight-up stopped. A wall of missed calls from Director Louvre stared back at me like a death sentence.
"Oh, shit! I'm dead! I'm literally dead meat!"
I scrambled out of bed, almost tripping over a pile of laundry—probably a "doormat" move, leaving my room a mess like that—and sprinted to the bathroom.
9:30 AM.
By the time I made it to the studio and checked my watch, I was already sweating through my shirt. Nice going, Daisy. You're mad late, and Louvre is gonna have your head on a platter.
As I walked into the studio, my brain finally started to piece together the garbage-fire of a night I had.
[Flashback: Last Night]
I'd left early because Director Louvre told me I wasn't needed. "Miller, you're dismissed. Try not to trip over your own feet on the way out, yeah?" he'd barked. He always treated me like a glorified coffee runner instead of an Assistant Director. Honestly, whatever. I'm so used to being his punching bag I don't even feel the bruises anymore.
I hit up a bar near my apartment in Brooklyn. It's my go-to spot when I need to drown my sorrows in something stronger than a latte. I ordered my usual: straight tequila.
I know what people think. 'Oh, look at Daisy, she looks so innocent, like she's never even seen a PG-13 movie.' Yeah, right. I drink this stuff to prove I'm not just some pushover from the suburbs.
I was halfway through my drink when someone tapped my arm. I turned around and—holy crap. The guy had the most insane blue eyes I've ever seen. Like, I'm talkin' ocean-deep, "stare-into-your-soul" blue.
"Ain't no way a girl like you is drinkin' that straight. Bold choice," the guy said, flashing a smile that was literally dazzling.
He was white, blonde hair styled up, wearing a black tee and leather pants. Total model vibes. He was slim but toned, and tall—like, "blocking the sun" tall. I was so stunned I couldn't even form a sentence. I just stood up abruptly, lookin' like a total weirdo.
I tried to walk away, but he caught my arm. I froze.
"My bad, seriously. Didn't mean to creep ya out," he apologized, giving me these puppy eyes that were straight-up illegal. "I just... I really wanted to get to know you."
Is this guy for real? Is a literal ten-out-of-ten actually tryna talk to me, or is the tequila gaslighting me right now?
I felt my face getting mad hot, so I looked at my shoes. Embarrassing. Total doormat behavior, Daisy. He noticed he was still holding my arm and let go, scratching the back of his head like a dork.
It happened so fast after that. One minute we're sitting across from each other, talkin' about God-knows-what, laughin' like old friends. It was the first time in forever I actually felt... seen.
We stopped laughing and just stared. I noticed a tiny mole on his left cheek. Then my eyes dropped to his lips. And because I have zero self-control when I'm buzzed, I just went for it. I kissed him.
He was shocked for like a second, then he wrapped his hands around my face and leaned into it. The whole bar disappeared. The only thing that existed was him.
Next thing I know, we're back at my apartment, clothes all over the floor, cuddling in my bed—MY BED?!
[Present Day]
The flashback hit me like a ton of bricks. Oh my god. He's still there. He's literally in my apartment right now, sleepin' in my bed. "Jesus Christ! How did I forget that?!" I whispered, my eyes bulging. I can't just leave a random stranger—even if he is a total babe—alone in my place! What if he steals my laptop? Or my production notes?
I turned around, ready to bolt out of the studio and go back home, when I slammed right into a solid wall of "I'm about to fire you."
Director Louvre.
"Do non tell me you are already leaving ven you just got 'ere and you are... LATE!" he barked in that thick-as-hell French accent, crossin' his arms like he owned the joint.
"There's somethin' I forgot back at my apartment," I muttered. I don't even know where I got the stones to tell him that. Guess I was straight-up askin' for it at that point.
His face turned redder than a New York fire hydrant. He closed his eyes and took a deep-ass breath. "YOU ARE FIRED!"
My jaw deadass hit the floor when I heard that. W-what? He's messin' with me, right? I laughed all awkward-like at him, but he just looked confused as hell. Then, the next thing outta his mouth made my blood straight-up boil: "I SAID YOU ARE FIRED. YOU DID NON 'EAR ME?! Stupid beech," and just like that, he turned tail and walked away without even lookin' back.
I clenched my fists, fightin' back the tears as I yelled, "You didn't fire me, you hack!!" right at his back.
He spun around. "Vat?!" he asked, soundin' mad annoyed.
"I'm resignin' anyway! I quit before you ever got the chance to fire me!" I know my pride was doin' the talkin', but I was just so done with this trash-fire company anyway.
I ripped off my ID and chucked it—straight-up threw it—until it landed right in front of him. I hauled ass outta there. "You beech!" That was the last thing I heard him scream. I found myself walkin' toward the back of the studio, where the stairs to the rooftop are.
I let myself in just to catch a breeze. I was honestly on the verge of a total panic attack—it always happens when I'm stressed to the max. I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths to chill out. I walked over to the edge and looked down at the streets. Honestly, watchin' the busy chaos down there actually made me feel a bit better.
"Hey! Don't even think about doin' that!"
Startled as hell, I looked behind me to see where the hell that voice came from. My heart skipped a beat when I saw those piercin', insane blue eyes again. What is he doin' here? And what the hell is he talkin' about? I just looked at him, totally lost. He ran toward me, grabbed my arm, and dragged me away from the edge. Okay, look—grabbin' my arm without askin' is startin' to become a habit for this guy. It wasn't even makin' me giddy anymore. I snatched my arm back real quick. "Don't touch me! And who the hell are you, anyway?!" I glared at him.
He looked shocked and gave me this "my bad" look. "I'm sorry, I thought you were gonna—"
"I'm gonna what? Jump? Suicide? Deadass? Hah," I said, my voice drippin' with sarcasm. He looked all flustered, looked away, and scratched his head like a dork.
I know life's been a total grind lately, but that's the last thing I'd ever do. I still got dreams I'm chasin'. I ain't just gonna end my life like that. I don't wanna go out like a nobody; I'm still tryna make a name for myself, for real.
"By the way, you an actor or a model here?" I asked him, gettin' a bit curious.
"No, I'm actually a director. I was assigned to this studio, so I guess I'm the new guy here, haha."
A new director? How come I didn't hear squat about this? And for real, ain't he a little young for a director? And speakin' of young—don't tell me I'm actually older than him. Jesus Christ. I sighed loud and pinched the bridge of my nose.
"Is there a problem with that?" he asked, lookin' all innocent.
"No! Just that—" He raised his eyebrows, waitin'. I took a big breath. "About last night… let's just forget that ever happened, alright?" I saw his face drop, but he pulled it back together into that bright, golden-boy smile like nothin' happened.
"Okay!" he said, but the smile didn't even reach his eyes. I felt a little bit of regret the second I said it, but in the state I'm in, I just can't handle any more drama, especially from younger guys like him.
I nodded and gave him a small smile. I was just grateful he wasn't makin' a thing out of it.
"So, you work here too?" he asked as we started walkin' through the hallways. I knew I shoulda been halfway home by now, but I figured the guy probably needs a hand gettin' around this place, even if it hurts my pride as an ex-assistant director. I didn't know how to answer. I didn't wanna look like a total loser in front of him, especially since I'm the one playin' tour guide.
"Yeah, I'm a director here, too," I lied, chucklin' all nervous-like. I just wanted to wrap up this conversation and this ridiculous tour so I could get home, smash a whole pint of matcha ice cream, and binge-watch Friends.
He raised his eyebrows, lookin' like he was findin' the whole thing mad amusin'.
"Oh! Zere you are, Monsieur Monroe. Neece meeteeng you!"
I heard Director Louvre's voice approachin' us. Lucky for me, my back was turned, so there was no way he could see my face. I had to bail—like, right now! As Mr. Monroe greeted him with a loud "Director Louvre!", I took my chance and hauled ass, never lookin' back once. I heard the guy callin' out after me, but I didn't wanna look like a total dork in front of him. Besides, dealin' with Louvre was exhaustin' enough for one day.
Once I got back to my apartment, I saw three stacks of pancakes topped with honey and berries, and a coffee—looked like a latte with one of those fancy leaf designs on top. I picked up the note left beside it: "I see you've already left, but I still wanted to make breakfast for you as a token of appreciation. I had fun last night!" I read it and couldn't help but smile.
"Mr. Monroe... hmm..." Why'd that last name sound so damn familiar?
I checked the fridge. Empty. Not a single pint of ice cream in sight. Typical. I sighed and grabbed my purse to hit the store. I was runnin' outta everything anyway.
I hopped on the bus and got there like seven minutes later. I grabbed a cart and loaded it up with ice cream, beer, canned goods, and a frozen pizza. I don't cook—I'm way too lazy for all that. My meals are mostly fast food. Honestly, I'm probably the single reason these fast food joints are stayin' in business.
After gettin' my groceries, I decided to walk home. I needed to clear my head and think about what the hell I'm gonna do now that I'm unemployed. Big sigh. Why is bein' a grown-up so damn hard?! I whipped out my phone to check for any emails from companies I'd applied to before. Maybe some of 'em actually got back to me.
While I was scrollin' through my inbox, I accidentally bumped right into someone. I apologized and looked up. "Ms. Miller?" Mr. Monroe looked shocked to see me again. Wait. How the hell did he know my last name? Maybe that hack Louvre was talkin' about me earlier?
"Oh, look voo eez 'ere," Director Louvre said, givin' me a total death stare. What were they even doin' here anyway? Oh, right—it was already 1 PM. Lunchtime. I shot a glare right back at the hack. Mr. Monroe just looked at me, his eyes full of concern.
"Do non vaste your teeme on someone like 'er, Monsieur Monroe. Non talent! Non passion! Non cre-ah-tee-vee-tee! Someone like 'er eez on-lee a lapdog in our eyes."
His words straight-up shredded me. I did my absolute best not to start leakin' tears right then and there while I balled up my fists. I gave Louvre one last look—cursin' his entire existence in my head—and hauled ass outta there as fast as I could. Mr. Monroe tried to stop me but backed off—guess he could tell I needed some serious space.
Once I got home, I finally lost it. I dropped the grocery bags right on the floor and just let the waterworks go until I was completely tapped out of tears.
7 PM. I checked the clock and dragged myself up to toss that frozen pizza in the oven. I'd been cryin' on my bed all damn day—no wonder my eyes were swollen as hell. I grabbed every single beer I'd bought earlier. I'd had a trash-fire of a day and I deserved 'em. My bad luck just kept pilin' up. Ding! Pizza was done. I grabbed it, slumped on the couch, and flipped on the TV.
I spent the night stuffin' my face and throwin' back beers, watchin' whatever garbage was on the tube. Next thing I know, I'm properly wasted. Louvre's words were loopin' in my brain like a bad record. I thought cryin' all day would be enough to get over it. Guess not. Which led me to doin' somethin' I never thought I'd deadass do.
I found myself back on the roof of Sunset Valley Studio, standin' right on the ledge, lookin' down at the busy streets below. Rain was straight-up pourin' on me. I just wanted it all to be over—at least I'd make the headlines this way. Guess my dream of makin' a name for myself was finally gonna happen. I smiled, closed my eyes. "I'm sorry, self." That was the last thing goin' through my head until I suddenly felt this warmth wrap around me.
I snapped my eyes open. Blinding white flashes were hittin' me from everywhere, and I could hear a crowd mutterin' all around. Where the hell was I? Wasn't I dead? I felt someone standin' right next to me and looked over to see those piercin' blue eyes again. M-Mr. Monroe? I just stared at him, completely shook.
"Darling? Is something the matter?" he said. Why in the hell did he have a British accent all of a sudden?!
"Evelyne Vane! Is it true you're romantically involved with a fellow actress?" I looked away from him and faced the reporter. Evelyne Vane? Why the hell did he call me that? "I—beg your pardon?" I whispered. Wait. Why'd my voice sound so different? I deadass had a British accent now?
My heart was racin'. No. No, no, no. I knew I'd jumped off that ledge and I was dead-certain I was a goner. So why was I dealin' with this? Was this a dream? Was I supposed to be dreamin' after kickin' the bucket? Shouldn't I be seein' my whole life flash before my eyes or somethin'?
I couldn't catch my breath. I got up and hauled ass outta there. Mr. Monroe's voice was callin' after me, but I kept on runnin'. I got outside and checked out the scene. I was in some kind of studio. Cameramen rushin' around. Production staff walkin' all over. Oh God! This couldn't be what I thought it was. I wandered around lookin' totally clueless until I found a restroom. Thank God! I ducked inside and looked in the mirror.
I took a second look. A third... a fourth— I screamed my damn lungs out. Who? What? I touched my face and pinched myself to see if what I was lookin' at was legit. Yep, confirmed. This was the real deal. I looked like I was in my late 20s. Taller, too. I had feline brown eyes. My nose was sharper. My lips were smaller but plump. My face was toned and lifted. I had raven hair in an updo. Yeah, this definitely wasn't me.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I needed to think. There had to be some kinda rational explanation for this madness. I paced back and forth in that bathroom. Hopefully, nobody else was in there 'cause I straight-up looked crazy. The only thing that kept poppin' into my head was that I'd been reincarnated, and somehow my memories were still stuck inside me. Or maybe this was hell, and God was punishin' me for what I'd done. Honestly, I liked the first option a lot better.
While I was drownin' in these ridiculous thoughts, I heard someone come in. I looked up, and my mouth dropped open. A tall woman with long, wavy ginger hair and fox shaped hazel eyes was givin' me a death stare. She was gorgeous! Even if she did have a major attitude, judgin' by the way she was lookin' at me. I just stared at her, totally dazed. I could look at her all day. I gave her a little smile, and I saw her face go from mad to confused.
"Honestly! You've been stood here this whole time?! Do be a dear and head back out there to tell them the bloody truth!" she yelled at me. What the hell was she talkin' about?
"Pardon? The truth?"
She face-palmed like she was totally fed up. "You cannot be serious right now!" she muttered. "Yes! The truth! You're the one who kissed me first!"
Wait. Come again? "Ki-kissed you?!" Was I a lesbian now?! I just stared at her with my eyes buggin' out while she glared daggers at me.