It came back in fragments.The whine of the drone cutting too close, the sudden drop of her stomach, Kayne’s hand at her back already there, already deciding to move her without asking and without hesitation, because survival apparently did not require consensus.Sirens layered over shouting.Flashing lights turned the world into a stuttering, unreal thing.She remembered standing on the stage afterward, answering the same questions over and over while adrenaline slowly bled out of her system.Did you see where it came from?Had you noticed anything unusual beforehand?Were you aware of any threats?She’d kept her voice steady, her answers measured and carefully vague, the verbal equivalent of foam padding.Yes, it was frightening.No, she didn’t think it was targeted.Probably a reckless stunt or a malfunction.It might’ve been someone being stupid with expensive toys.She mentioned anything that didn’t end with panic rippling through ten million followers and a stock dip she’d have to apologize for on social media.
The media was a circus.Cameras shoved too close, reporters were breathless with speculation, and headlines were already half-written before facts had a chance to catch up.She’d smiled when she was supposed to, deflected when she could, leaned hard into normalcy because that was safer for everyone.They didn’t tell the public about the car, her apartment, or the way danger seemed to keep circling closer.The official story stayed neat and digestible, stripped of context and consequence.
Chloe told herself it was the right call, that minimizing the threat kept people calm and protected the business she’d worked so hard to build.Still, as she got dressed and they headed for the gym, a familiar unease settled in her belly.Downplaying danger didn’t make it disappear.It only meant she carried it quietly, like a cracked rib no one could see, waiting to find out how badly it hurt once she breathed wrong.
Last night blurred at the edges, softened by exhaustion and the steady warmth of Kayne’s body beside her.He’d slept in the bed without discussion, one arm around her with an easy certainty that felt less like possession and more like protection.She remembered the way her shaking had finally slowed when she tucked closer, the rise and fall of his chest anchoring her to something real.He hadn’t crowded her or asked questions.He’d just held her as they talked about nothing and everything, time slipping past until she lost track of it.Finally, sleep claimed her, and he was solid and watchful even in rest.His instincts didn’t clock out just because consciousness did.
The memory lingered as she tied her shoes, and a small, unexpected comfort threaded through the tension.Whatever today brought, and, God help her, she could feel it lining up already, taking a number and tapping its foot, she hadn’t faced the night alone.Somehow, that made stepping back into the daylight feel marginally possible.
So was the inevitable realization that she was falling in love with her bodyguard.
Cool.Normal.Absolutely not a problem she would be unpacking later at three a.m.
At the gym, she checked the clock for the fourth time in five minutes and firmly told herself not to panic.It was only 8:47 a.m., but Robin should’ve been here at eight.Earlier, actually.She’d said she wanted to get started before everyone arrived.Chloe had immediately filed that undercompetent, reliable, please don’t disappear on me.Third-day nerves were normal.So was traffic.So were coffee mishaps and existential crises before noon.Those were Danica’s specialties, but still.
She’d talked to Robin about hiring support staff first thing this morning.They needed to find a membership manager or two, a fitness director, an assistant for Robin, dozens of instructors, personal trainers, and a janitorial and maintenance crew, not to mention personnel to staff the shop that would sell her clothing line and fitness essentials.Chloe wanted everyone in place when they opened the doors in a few weeks.
“It’s fine,” Chloe murmured, shifting the tablet in her hands.“Totally fine.”
She pulled out her phone and dialed Robin’s number, watching the screen with an intensity usually reserved for test results or live-stream comment sections gone rogue, which was not a healthy way to live, but here she was.
Straight to voicemail.
Chloe tried again, slower this time in case intention mattered to cellular networks or the universe, both of which had been deeply unreliable lately.
Voicemail.
Fear turned her lungs to stone as a thin ribbon of unease wound through her stomach.A conversation floated back uninvited.It was during the walkthrough when the printer jammed for the second time and the biometric scanner froze.She’d chosen that system so members wouldn’t have to carry cards, because convenience mattered.Plus, it was supposed to be safer, harder to game or share, and prevent the wrong people from slipping through.
You don’t seem the type to quit the first week because Mercury’s in retrograde,Chloe had said, smiling, teasing, absolutely tempting fate, and clearly unaware it was taking notes.
She let out a quiet, nervous laugh now.“Wow.Really testing my commitment to astrology jokes, universe.”
She sent a text, keeping it light because that was what she did best when she was worried—wrap anxiety in a bow and hope no one tugged an end.
Hey!It’s Chloe Giordano.Everything okay?Just checking in.Contact me when you can.She added a smiley-face emoji.It was cheerful and non-threatening, the digital equivalent ofhands raised and please don’t be deadenergy she refused to examine.
Chloe stared at the screen, waiting for the typing bubbles to appear.They didn’t.
Construction workers began drifting in, familiar faces who smiled at her.She smiled back, even as anxiety started pacing behind her sternum.If Robin quit, Chloe was in trouble.Not catastrophic trouble, but the kind that crept up quietly and unraveled schedules, payroll, and sanity one loose thread at a time.
She was already way behind on staffing.Losing Robin meant she’d be back to square one, since Robin had spent yesterday going over résumés and narrowing down candidates.It was a process Chloe deeply respected and never wanted to repeat unless forced at metaphorical gunpoint.
Her gaze slid to the folder on her desk, the one she’d hoped she wouldn’t need again.
Oliver Pearsall.
He was qualified, with solid credentials and good references, but he was also stiff and wrong in a way she hadn’t been able to articulate.Chloe had learned, painfully, what happened when she ignored that quiet inner voice.
Still, practicality pressed in.If Robin didn’t show, Chloe might not have a choice, which, quite frankly, felt rude considering everything she’d already survived this week.
She exhaled and leaned against the counter, lowering her voice so the universe couldn’t overhear.“Please don’t make me hire Oliver.I will blame Mercury.Or Mars.Or the moon.I am not picky.”
Her phone dinged, and her heart jumped hard enough to sting.
She grabbed it, hope flaring bright and fast, only to fizzle when she saw a calendar reminder for inventory.
Not a message or a missed call.
