I'm two drinks in and already feeling a nice buzz. Marley makes sure I eat as I pound a few more drinks back, ever the mom friend, and the food at this bar is surprisingly decent.

"These are the best fries I've ever eaten," I slur as I grab a few and shovel them into my mouth.

They're hot and salty. I can't help the little moan that escapes as they hit my taste buds.

Mila laughs at me and Marley tosses the remaining fries at my face playfully.

"They're just fries, Cam, how badly can the cooks fuck them up?" Mila grins.

I throw my hands up in mock indignation. I take my fries very seriously.

"Just fries? Fries make or break your whole meal! If they're too salty or not salty enough, everything is ruined. And don't even get me started on when they're all limp and soggy!"

The three of us burst into a fit of giggles at my impassioned speech. Marley breaks off Mila's laughter with a kiss. It's sweet and innocent enough given that they're in a very public club, but it's passionate.

They look at each other lovingly, like they're the only two in the room. It makes me smile, but I have to look away. Marley and Mila were those high school sweethearts that everyone knew would be together forever.

They were my best friends, but with my love life on a downward spiral, it was painful to see.

I make an excuse about needing fresh air and they give me a half-hearted wave in response. When I turn in my chair to face the front entrance, I catch sight of a familiar face lurking in the shadows.

She's at least a foot shorter than most of the people around her, but the all-black suit sticks out amongst everyone's casual club attire. I slam my glass on the table and push myself out of the booth. The girls look up briefly at the sound but quickly turn back to each other.

"Freya," I greet her warily as I saunter up to her.

Her face holds no expression. She hardly even spares me a glance, instead focusing on the crowd around us with a critical gaze.

"Camden," she finally looks my way, but it's more of a once over.

The way she takes in my form-fitting black mini dress reminds me of the disapproving look my mother would give me when she caught me doing something bad.

"Uhh, can I ask what you're doing here?"

Her demeanor is cold and formal, much different from the warm greeting she gave me just this morning. She's clearly on a job.

"I'm assigned to you."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm here to keep an eye on you, protect you, whatever," she shrugs.

She's so nonchalant, it's as if she's talking about the weather or something. But she's basically here to spy on me.

Oliver is still sending fucking spies to keep tabs on me. I'm livid.

My face must reveal how pissed I really am because she finally cracks a little. A hint of nervousness breaks through her tough facade as I pull my phone out of my bag. I dial his number as I step out of the club. Freya follows behind me in a panic.

Oliver answers on the second ring, his voice rough with sleep.

"Hello?" He mumbles into the speaker.

"You're having me fucking followed?" I yell.

I try my best not to slur my words. Lord knows what he would do if he found out I was drunk in public without him, not that his minion won't go running back to tell him everything anyways.

The thought just infuriated me more though. Why does he get to follow and control me after he rejected me?

What right does he have?

I should be able to do what I want, when I want. I don't even realize I'm pacing aggressively in front of the entrance until Freya tugs me backwards to stop me from bumping into a couple walking by.

I take a deep breath to calm myself. Oliver still hasn't responded.

"Hello?" I snap at him.

I know he's there, I can hear his harsh breathing on the other end.

"Camden, I'm doing it for your own safety," he finally responds softly.

"No, fuck that. You're doing it for your own ego!"

"You just don't understand what kind of people-"

"Fuck you," I teeth before pressing the end call button.

I hate that my emotions have been all over the place today. Most of the time I can keep a level head, but I feel like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum.

Part of me wants to just chalk it up to the alcohol and sleep deprivation, but deep down I know it's just this crazy effect Oliver has on me.