Thanks to Nolan“Enemy Number One”Rhodes.
And now, I’ll be standing across from him. Again.
He’ll be confident, hungry. He’ll be charming and cocky and probably wearing some sinfully fitted suit that makes my bloodstream do gymnastics.
I can still hear his voice, low and smug:It’s not personal, Adams. It’s performance.
That’s how he views it. Just another board to play. Another checkmate to land. And God help me, I hate that part of him almost as much as I want to kiss it out of his mouth.
He was right about one thing, though. If you’re not willing to play, you’ve already lost.
But I don’t want to playhisgame.
I want to win mine.
My fingers curl tighter around the edge of the armrests. I don’t need tricks. I don’t need backroom deals or slashed prices. I don’t need to sleep with the enemy to get ahead.
…Right?
Then why can’t you stop thinking about him? Or his cock?
Which feltreallybig.
The door opens. Laurel glides into the room like she always does, poised, a quiet power in heels. She sees the look on my face and doesn’t say a word. She crosses to her desk and sits.
I brace myself. Laurel notices everything. And right now, I’m too fragile to hide.
“You look like you were about to eat that invitation,” she says softly.
“It deserves it.”
Her lips twitch. “Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing,” I exhale. “Really, I swear.”
Laurel pauses, making the silence heavy. “I’ve heard some talk, Rorie. Did something happen between you and Big Stream’s Creative Director?” Her ask is gentle.
I hesitate, then shake my head. “Nothing I’m ready to define.”
Her gaze reviews me, trying to read pages I haven’t written yet. “He’s competition, Rorie.”
“I know.”
She waits a beat. “And competition gets messy when emotions are involved. Especially when they’re unresolved.”
“I know that too.”
“So what are you really afraid of?”
That question splits something open inside me. The part I keep hidden. The grief I don’t let breathe. The fear I don’t name.
“I’m scared.”
“Of?”
“That I won’t be taken seriously in this space. Or that I’m too much.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “Too emotional. Too impulsive. Too messy. I’m not cut out for this—this pressure, this constant push to prove I belong. And yeah, so there’s a tiny something going on with Nolan Rhodes. And now I feel…ashamed, embarrassed…also alive. Very much alive.”
Laurel doesn’t look away. She smiles at that. “Is that fear you haveyourvoice, or your mother’s? Because you sound just like her.”
