Slow bites, Willow. Just take it slow. Keep the wine flowing. You could probably last four hours at the gym and still be able to function tomorrow at work. Who needs sleep?

“Thanks, honey.” I sit in my seat and look over at Kirby, starting the first dance of my fork against the devil's temptation sitting in front of me. “How was soccer practice?” I question, picking a small sliver of my dinner and placing it between my lips. It takes everything in me not to moan at the explosion of flavors that hit my neglected taste buds.

“Good, good. Alli is a rockstar, like always.” She brags about her eight-year-old daughter.

“When’s her next game? I missed the first couple. Work’s kicking my ass,” Eddie complains.

“Yeah, Mister Hotshot Photographer. If you would stop shooting all those gorgeous men for two seconds, then maybe we would see you more often.” Kirby laughs, taking another huge bite of her food and making my mouth water a little more.

“It’s been insane, Kirb. I’m so glad we finally finished up with that campaign. I never thought I would be happy to have half-naked women back in front of my lens. Those men are the biggest divas of all.”

They continue to talk about work while I work on moving my food around and keeping their glasses filled. Of course, as I was concentrating so hard on making sure I put the minimum number of bites between my lips, I miss Eddie’s next question.

“I hear your sister is trying to get her job back. Know anything about that, Will?”

My fork drops, flinging the piece of food I had been shifting last in the air before it lands with a wet slap on the table.

“Excuse me?” I implore, ignoring the mess I just made.

“How did you not hear about this? Jesus, you sit outside your father’s office every day, Will! Have you been living under a rock?”

“Tell me?” I whisper. God, I know my father couldn’t care less about me, but I really thought we had been turning a corner when Ivy quit. Well, that’s a lie. But it felt better to be at work when I had just one person’s hate to deal with instead of two.

Eddie’s concerned gaze rolls over my face as he assesses the damage he knows this turn in the conversation is causing me.

“Just tell her, Eddie. She deserves to know so she can be prepared.”

“Right, well … it’s all rumors, of course. But I heard from Pam, who heard it from Stacy, who heard it from Janelle when she was filling in for you last week while you were on vacation, that your sister had a meeting with your dad. Apparently, when they finished, he said he would look forward to seeing her around the office next week. Which I’m assuming means tomorrow. Shit, I’m sorry, Willow. I thought for sure he would tell you.”

“Yeah? Because we have such a close relationship,” I snap, pushing my plate away. At least they won’t question my lack of appetite now.

Eddie looks at my plate before looking over at Kirby. They continue to have some silent conversation while I let my mind drift to what it would mean if Ivy were to come back to work.

We all work together at my father’s agency. He’s been a driving force in the modeling world for the last three decades. His offices, one of many, are headquartered in New York City, and he handles everything from models to photographers and everyone between.

Kirby, being one of those inbetweeners, works for my father as a well-sought-after makeup artist who he hires for various events such as on-location photo shoots, fashion shows, and here lately, television and movies. Luckily for my father, she’s happy to remain in New York and has no dreams of moving on to work on her own, like Eddie.

Eddie had been working for the Logan Agency as one of his top photographers, but because of his superior work and in-demand status, he’s recently branched out on his own. Thus, our little celebration of his ‘promotion’ and leaving the Logan Agency. I couldn’t be more thrilled for him and his new path in life. Even if I’m sad that when he leaves for some commitments he has in Europe, our girls’ nights will never be the same.

And me? I’m a glorified secretary for the owner, my father, but all that boils down to is I’m his gofer, coffee maker, and overall little bitch. Ivy had been working as his personal assistant, right hand, and general face of the Logan Agency before leaving to ‘start her life with Brad.’ Apparently, if rumors are true, her life got started and she’s ready to torment me a little more while getting all the gratification she can from being fawned over constantly at the agency.

And here I am, the stupid little girl who believed she could make her father love her during my quest for healing. If it weren't for Kirby still being there, I would have left when Eddie did last week and never looked back. But I’ve sunk the better part of my twenties into working for a man who hated me just so I could attempt to earn his love. Stupidly believing the impossible possible. And now, well … who would hire a twenty-nine-year-old woman with a dusty degree in business administration and the only experience under her belt being making coffee and answering the phone?

“Will? You okay, honey?” Kirby asks.

Giving myself a mental slap, I look over at her and give her my best smile.

“Yeah, just lost my appetite thinking about what that might mean for me.”

She looks over at Eddie and then down at my plate before looking back into my eyes. “You sure? You didn’t eat much,” she states; obviously, since I probably had maybe four full bites.

“Yeah. Ivy tends to do that to me. I’m going to go clean up.” I don’t wait for them to ask any more questions; I gather my plate and walk into the kitchen, scraping the food into the trash before washing off the plate.

Well … at least I didn’t have to pretend to actually eat it any longer.

THE NEXT DAY, WHEN MY alarm starts blaring, I wake up with a sense of dread over the news that Ivy might just be back in the office today. It doesn’t matter that I’ve changed mentally and physically since the last time I saw her. It doesn’t matter that in that time, I’ve gained some of my confidence back. I’ve been stronger. At that moment, the feeling of hate and fear instantly pushes me back once again. Hate for her, but even that is overshadowed by the hate I feel toward myself for being so weak that I forget every step I’ve made to better myself over the last six months. And fear that being around her again is going to cause me to slip and forget the strength I’ve earned.

Physically, I’ve worked hard to shed some weight and have dropped a solid fifty pounds from my body. I no longer look in the mirror and hate who I see looking back. I don’t love it, but I’m getting there. I had been a size twenty for so long that sometimes I still struggle to see the size fourteen I’ve earned through basically starving myself of the food I crave and maintaining daily—sometimes twice a day—trips to the gym. Getting ready this morning, though, no matter how hard I try, I see the old me. I feel the same helpless self-loathing I had for so long. Just because of Ivy and what her return could mean.

I know the problem. I know why I see the old me. It’s taken months of deep theory to understand that it is a trick my mind plays on me. I have a preoccupation with finding my flaws. All of this stems from suffering from what my doctor calls body dysmorphia. I’ve made the vision I see for myself a product of the imagined flaw. Even realizing this and working daily to overcome it, I still find that it’s easier said than done. A week after my divorce was final, she started me on anti-depressants, and with the help of our sessions, my journaling, and a lot of extensive therapy I had been able to put it behind me … for the most part.