One week later...
"Get out of my house, Layla."
Zaya's voice cut through my half-asleep haze like a cold splash of water. I groaned, pulling the blanket over my head, determined to block her out.
The couch I'd claimed in her living room was ridiculously comfortable plush and soft, like it had been designed specifically to cradle a lazy person like me. I wasn't about to let her ruin my morning with her no-nonsense attitude.
"It's too early for this," I muttered, my voice muffled by the blanket.
"It's ten-thirty," Zaya shot back, her tone sharp but exasperated. "We're supposed to be at the studio in an hour, and you're not even awake."
I peeked out from under the blanket, squinting at her. She was already dressed, of course, in a tailored black blazer and jeans that somehow made her look both casual and impossibly elegant. It made her look bossy.
