“What you heard was your own fear trying to keep you safe. Ask yourself if it’s also keeping you small.”
My hands find my pockets like they are hiding places. “I’ll let you know.”
“I hope you do.”
I step out into the hallway. Cool air hits the back of my neck, inching under my collar. My hand finds the wall without thinking, needing something solid before the truth knocks me flat.
I always expect to feel lighter after a session, but instead I feel wrecked. I finally said the thing I’ve been trying not to let touch daylight since the second I saw her again. I don’t want this to stay fake, and the thought hits sharp enough to steal my breath. I scrub a hand over my face, trying to slip back into the version of me I was an hour ago, but I’m not that guy anymore. Because now the truth is loud and impossible to outrun. The worst part is, if she said one word, I’d let everything else fall.
And deep down, I already know I’m not walking away from this untouched.
Chapter Five
Alycia
My phone lights up, and his contact name glares at me:Elevator Boyfriend, because apparently, I make terrible life choices now. I catch myself grinning before I can stop it. It’s not the grin I give the rookies when they screw up a media question. This one feels dangerous. It makes me look like I have a secret. One I shouldn’t be enjoying this much.
Never gonna happen.
His last text sits on my screen, and the words buzz under my skin like they’ve got their own pulse. I should delete the thread or at least stop reading it like it’s poetry. Instead, I drop my phone face down on the desk and let out a groan that sounds a lot like someone losing an argument with herself.
“It’s fine,” I mutter. “You aren’t flirting with a stranger who kissed your hand in an elevator. That’s absurd. This is just… exhaustion and poor boundaries.”
This is what happens when you let your guard down for five seconds in an elevator. One reckless,hand-kissing, rule-breaking stranger, and now I’m texting him as if my brain was left on another floor.
Focus, Torres. You’re not a teenager.
I straighten in my chair and start typing notes into the roster sheet, eyes flicking between headshots and bullet points. Photo credits, sponsorship mentions, and interview schedules. Little details I can control. My coffee’s gone cold by the time a knock sounds at my door.
“If it’s another rookie asking for new headshots, I swear?—”
“Relax, Torres. It’s not a rookie.”
I blink at the voice—smooth and unmistakable from a hundred press clips.
“Come in,” I call, even though they already have.
Beau Hendrix steps through the doorway, tall and steady, and right behind him, his brother, Cole, leans against the frame, grin sharp enough to be illegal.
Shit. This can’t be good for me at all.
Cole pushes off the frame and drops into the chair opposite my desk. “You look suspiciously focused. Should I be worried?”
I keep my gaze on my monitor, mostly because looking directly at him feels like inviting chaos. “You should always be worried, especially when you sneak up on me while I’m being productive.”
Beau takes the chair beside Cole. “You have a bad habit of picking the wrong moments to bother her.”
Cole twists in his chair to glance back at him. “Et tu, Beau?”
“You two are supposed to be practicing and coaching, or whatever else you do around here, not harassing the PR department.”
“I’m mentoring the rookies. It’s a selfless act.” Cole presses a hand to his chest, mock-offended.
“Selfless isn’t the word I’d use.”
“Then pick a better one.”
“Interfering comes to mind.”
