I sigh. She’s so different from the girl I found sitting in a jail cell a few years ago. Brought in on felony hacking charges after she broke into my production company’s database looking for dirt to sell to online Hollywood tabloid shows. She was living on the streets. No parents, no home. No money. No future.

I wanted to press charges, teach her a lesson and make her pay for it all at the same time. I was still reeling from a lackluster performance in an independent project I had help produce a few months earlier, not to mention the constant headlines in Buzz Hollywood accusing me of living some kind of dark, sordid double life. I wanted to make her pay.

Luckily Samantha talked me out of it after learning what Felicity’s situation was, and I ended up not pressing charges. But I still wanted to teach her a lesson. So I made her work for me as my personal assistant that entire summer and decided to become her foster parent.

She changed my life. It went from shallow and empty to meaningful in one day. Like seriously, her first day at the studio with me. She had my whole life arranged on a tablet before lunch. She was quick and personable, and funny. She’s so funny. She lights up my life. We were inseparable that summer. People started calling us Velicity, that’s how attached we became. It’s like we were destined to be best friends.

When the end of the summer rolled around she started asking me weird questions. Would I get rid of her some day? Would I send her to another family to live with if she was bad? Would I get married and forget about our friendship? Would I have new children and replace her?

God, it killed me to hear her asking these questions. And of course, I reassured her without question. I might be a dick, but I believe in commitment. Once I’m on board with something, I’m in. I believe in the long haul. I believe in sticking it out. People who make it past my initial aloofness, and not many do, so I can’t hardly blame Felicity for wondering, but those who do get inside, I am loyal.

I just couldn’t imagine living with that level of uncertainty Felicity was displaying. So I adopted her. Sent her to the best school for the duration of high school and just as I suspected, she was brilliant. She made up for all the previous years of poor education with perfect attendance and she graduated summa cum laude right on time. Colleges came knocking and she was admitted to my alma mater, the University of Southern California, without me even pulling strings or writing an extra check.

Now, she’s a senior. Psychology with a minor in criminal justice. Still has perfect grades. Still has perfect attendance. And even if she had none of that, she’s still perfect to me.

Yes, Felicity has certainly changed my view on life. The past four years have been the best, even though my love life has seriously been lacking. I count up the number of submissives I’ve had in that time. At least fifteen. Some of them were so bad at it, I never got past the first o**l s*x. All were stand-ins for the real deal.

I’ve had plenty of public girlfriends too, and those I do not f**k. It’s a business arrangement my agent sets up. We go out to eat together, shop once in a while, attend functions—but, you know, public things.

I don’t take the subs to any of that stuff. And to be honest, I’ve never had the desire.

I think I can count two authentic girlfriends in my life and both were in my teens. My co-star at Disney was matched up with me for some awards show and we actually did hit it off. We’re still friends now, but she’s… well, a movie star. Egomaniac, selfish, pampered, and self-sufficient. She never needed me.

I like to be needed.

The other real girlfriend crashed and burned at eighteen. Been in and out of rehab about a dozen times. It’s too bad, she was so cute as a teenager. But that one was clingy. Too needy. I like to be needed, but not for stupid things like waking up on time every day. I want to date a grownup. That girl never quite grew up, no matter how old she got.

After that, eh, I could take them or leave them. You’d think it’d be easy to find a soulmate as an internationally famous movie star. But it’s not. People just want to use you. They want something from you at all time. They want money, they want introductions, they want help.

I never know if they like me for me, or just for what I can give them. It’s hard to separate the two because if you really want to make a relationship work, you have to be invested.

I try not to be invested. I admit that says I’m not trying to be in a relationship. Which is why I have the submissive girls. They do what I say, and while I certainly do hand things out, they don’t get to ask me for anything.

One-way streets. Those are the best kind of relationships for me. I tell them up front I’m not invested. I’m shallow, I’m using them, I’m a controlling ass**le. Take it or leave it.

Very few leave it. Well, that’s not true, they all leave it eventually. When I kick them out the door. When I drop their asses off at the airport. When I stop taking calls, or answering emails, or reading messages. I don’t need to change the locks, they never come home with me anymore. Not since Felicity. This is a sex-free house. For both of us. No boys here for her, no women here for me.

Nada. This place is our safe haven from the world and that’s how it’s gonna stay.

My tablet dings with an incoming third-party Twitter notification.

@FilthyBlueBird has unfollowed you.

I laugh. “Oh, Grace, Grace, Grace. You think you can slip me that easily?”

Grace @FilthyBlueBird – 1s

OMG, I have a stalker! What do I do, #BlueBirds?

You’d think a woman using Twitter this regularly for a few years would understand how it all works. I can still see her tweets when she unfollows me. I have to stop and laugh a little.