“Whoa, who pissed in your coffee this morning?”

All my pent-up fury gathered on the tip of my tongue, and I felt myself on the verge of lashing out. I forced myself to swallow my anger before I caused a scene and risked the credibility I’d been working so hard to build. This scumbag was not going to cost me my promotion.

“I don’t want you to touch me,” I said, keeping my voice quiet and professional.

“Audrey—”

“No. I didn’t want you to touch me the night of the preview, and I don’t want you to touch me today, tomorrow, or ever. Got that?”

Without waiting for a response, I turned purposefully on the metal heel of my favorite pointy-toed pumps and marched toward the door. As I strode out of the room, pulse thundering, the black-haired woman caught my eye and smiled.

I WAS READY TO COLLAPSE by the time I left the museum. My feet, legs, and back ached from stalking the gallery all day in four-inch heels, and my eyes felt glazed from staring at my phone screen as I posted images and responded to comments. I’d planned an indulgent evening of self-care: a long, hot shower; a crisp glass of cool wine—I’d sprung for a twenty-five-dollar bottle of New Zealand sauvignon blanc from the cute wine shop on my street—and testing out an overnight hydrating mask (which had been sent to me by a new organic skin-care company) while watching Netflix in bed. I was already thumbing through the programming options on my phone as I walked home.

I looked up as I neared the apartment, and my stomach sank. Ryan, wearing a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off and with his brown hair hanging lankly around his shoulders, sat idly on the steps, drinking a canned energy drink and smoking a cigarette. As if he had been waiting for me, he raised his head and met my eyes. Holding the cigarette between his thumb and first finger, he took a long drag and then smiled, letting the smoke escape from the gaps in his teeth.

“Hello, neighbor.”

“Hi, Ryan,” I said faux brightly as I continued to my apartment.

He leaned over the stairs as I unlocked my gate, and I said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t ash that cigarette on my head.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked in his cagey way.

Why, so you know whether it’s safe to break in or not? I thought. I flashed him a saccharine smile and said, “Sharpening my knives.”

He burst out with a shrill, hyenalike cackle. I shuddered and hurriedly let myself into my apartment. As I carefully engaged each of my three locks, I could still hear him howling with laughter. Hoping to drown out the unsettling noise, I opened my laptop and chose a Spotify playlist heavy on my current favorite band, Ted and the Honey. I turned up the volume until I could hear nothing other than the music, then hopped in the shower.