He nods, shifting his gym bag higher on his shoulder as he walks toward his car. It’s a practical sedan with the baby seat strapped in the back. I can only imagine the abundance of soft toys scattered across the floorboards. “Sounds good. See you at the office,” he says.
I unlock my BMW and slide into the driver’s seat, the interior already warm from the sun. I crank the AC, rest my head against the headrest for a second, and then pull out, letting muscle memory do the work as I wind my way through streets I know by heart.
My house sits in the hills, glass and mid-century lines and the kind of view my younger self thought existed only on TV. I pull into the driveway, kill the engine, and sit there for a moment in the quiet.
The house waits empty, like always. No shoes kicked off by the door. No jacket thrown across the back of a chair. No voice calling my name from down the hall.
Most days, I’m okay with the silence and thelack of drama. The knowledge that everything inside these walls is mine and no one is rifling through it for things to sell. Some days, though, the quiet gets loud.
I climb out of the car and head inside, dropping my keys in the bowl by the door. I jog upstairs to my bedroom, stripping my sweaty clothes off on the way to the bathroom and leaving a trail I’ll pick up later.
The shower comes on with a hiss. I step under the hot spray and let it pound into my shoulders, steam fogging up the glass. It takes all of thirty seconds for my brain to betray me.
It’s three months ago and Natalie’s soft skin is under me, her head tipped back, that little gasp she made when I slowed down instead of rushing like she wanted. Her dark hair spread over my pillow.
I’ve stopped pretending I feel bad when I grip my cock. I have replayed that night more times than I should probably admit. Like some kind of masochist torturing myself with things I can’t have.
The first time I saw her was at Sophia and Grant’s wedding. Sophia is Wyatt’s sister and an Oscar-winning actress who married Grant Hall, the head of Wonderland Studios. Their wedding was this glamorous circus of producers and actors and family that somehow came together for one of the most memorable evenings. Especially when I spotted Natalie.
She walked past me on the terrace, laughing at something her friend said, and the sound went straight through me like an electrical shock. Dark hair, sharp eyes, and a black dress that looked like it had been designed preciselyfor her. I tried to come up with something clever to say. She smiled. And then she was gone, swallowed by the crowd.
I scrub my hands over my face and force my brain back into the present. I finish rinsing off, turn off the water, and step out into the fogged-up bathroom. I wrap a towel low around my hips, and wipe a circle in the mirror. My reflection show faint shadows under my eyes and a look of longing. Or maybe desperation.
“Get it together, man,” I mutter.
I dress on autopilot. Light blue shirt, the one that somehow makes me look more awake than I am. Charcoal jacket with matching slacks that pulls the whole thing into lawyer territory without feeling suffocating. I slip on my watch and the whole routine settles my nerves, the way it always does.
In the kitchen, I grab my travel mug, pour in some coffee, and the smell fills the space instantly. My phone lights up on the counter and I slip into work mode at the sight of my boss’s name.
Ryan
Can you join me for a new client meeting at 10am. Our offices.
I relax. Just routine work.
Jake
No problem. Need me to prepare anything?
The bubble with his reply pops up almost immediately.
Ryan
She’s a first-time writer-producer. Just sold a show to FlixPix. Contracts done, just want fresh eyes and ears at the signing.
Jake
I’ll be there.
The drive to Hays & Cole isn’t bad today. Traffic is actually moving which is a rarity for LA. By the time I pull into the garage under the downtown high-rise, the city is fully awake.
I step on to the elevator the ride smooth all the way up. The doors open onto the fifteenth floor, and that familiar burst of cool air and quiet power rolls over me.
The firm’s offices are sleek in a way that feels intentional. Floor-to-ceiling windows, dark wood against brushed metal, soft lighting that makes everyone look more put together than they probably feel, and the faint smell of coffee, paper, and money.
I swing by my office to drop my laptop off and grab a legal pad and pen. I step back out into the hallway, and head to the meeting with a stranger whose life is about to change.
I have no idea mine is about to shift too.
