“Stunt coordination, choreography. You could develop safety protocols or train the next generation.” Her excitement is infectious. “Brandon, you have over a decade of experience, relationships throughout the industry, and an understanding of both the creative and technical sides. You wouldn't be starting over, either. It would be a natural evolution.”
The way she talks about it, with such clarity and confidence, makes something ease in my chest.
“You'd really help me explore that?”
“Of course. We can research opportunities, make connections, create a plan that keeps you in Hollywood but positions you for longevity.” She grins. “I'm very good at what I do.”
“Deal,” I say, meaning it. “And you have to promise me something.”
“What?”
“You don't tell anyone about the shoulder concerns. Not the girls, not anyone. I'm not ready for that conversation yet.”
She mimes zipping her lips. “Promise.”
I pick up her list again, feeling like we've shifted into more honest territory. “Some of this stuff…” I point to items eight through ten. “It's graduate-level material, and you're still in intro classes.”
She deflates slightly. “But what if?—”
“Stella. Trust the process.” I give her a look.
She nods reluctantly.
“Alright, let's talk about what actually matters when you're trying to catch someone's attention.” I lean back against the couch, studying her face. “But first, can I ask you something?”
“Oh, we're starting this now?” She reaches for her notebook. “I thought we were going to ease into the lesson part.”
“No time like the present.” I shift closer, my voice dropping. “Why do you show up completely differently in your personal life than you do at work?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I've seen you walk into a conference room. You make eye contact with everyone, you choose the seat that gives you the best vantage point, you speak up, you tell stories.” I gesture toward her current position, curled up in the corner of the couch. “But put you in a social setting, and suddenly, you're shrinking into corners, avoiding eye contact, waiting for someone else to start conversations.”
Her cheeks flush pink, and I catch her unconsciously straightening her posture.
“I've watched women work a room before. The ones who get noticed aren't necessarily the prettiest ones. They're the ones who show up like they belong there.” I think about the women who've caught my attention over the years. “There was this girl at a wrap party last month. She walked in and immediately scanned the room like she was assessing the landscape. Made eye contact, chose her spot strategically, joined conversations instead of waiting to be included. Every guy in the room gravitated toward her.”
“What did she do differently?”
“She showed up the same way you do in a boardroom. Confident, present, like she had every right to be there.” I lean forward. “Stella, you're beautiful. But more than that, you're smart and funny and competitive as hell. Why don't you let people see that version of you?”
Her breath catches slightly at the admission.
“That's what Mason, or that guy from last night, or any guy you like, needs to see. Not some shrinking-violet version of yourself, but the woman who negotiates million-dollar deals and isn't afraid to fight for what she wants.”
She looks up from her notebook. “Okay, but can we talk about the touching thing? I felt like those women were touching you all night. How do I know when it's okay to touch a guy?”
I have to take a sip of my coffee before answering because my brain immediately goes to all the times she's touched me without thinking about it. “Read his body language first. If he's standing close to you, if he seems relaxed and engaged.”
“Okay, but explain it specifically. What did you do to make those girls touch you?”
“Start small.” My voice comes out rougher than I intended. “When you're laughing at something he said, let your hand rest on his forearm for just a second. Not a grab, just a light touch.”
I demonstrate by brushing my fingers against her arm, and I feel her slight intake of breath.
“You do that sometimes,” I continue, pulling my hand back. “When you're excited about something or trying to make a point.” I clear my throat. “If we were actually dating, that would drive me completely insane.”
Her pen hovers over the notebook. “Good insane or bad insane?”
