“I’m okay…” I muttered, though it was a lie. I wasn’t okay. Not even close.
I heard Vanessa’s heels click against the floor as she moved toward the table. Papers crunched under her feet until she stopped.
“Juliette Davis,” she read aloud. “Juliette…” I didn’t turn around, but I heard her say it again, softer this time, testing the name. I knew it sparked something in her memory.
“I need to ask you something,” I said, forcing my voice to sound calmer than it was.
“Okay,” she replied cautiously.
I turned to look at her, my jaw tightening.
“Did you delete any of her messages from my phone?”
Vanessa didn’t even hesitate.
“I blocked her number. She couldn’t get your messages and vice versa.”
Fuck!
Like the universe hadn’t already done enough to keep us apart, now I had confirmation that my meddling manager had stepped in to help. She didn’t apologize or explain herself. She didn’t have to. I knew exactly why she did it. Years ago, when we started working together, I instructed her: ‘Do whatever it takes to make me famous.’And she’d followed that to the letter.
“I need you to come up with a plan to end the engagement with Anna,” I said firmly.
“That’s a terrible idea,” Vanessa shot back, still standing near the table.
I pinned her with a look so intense I knew she felt it in her chest. I wasn’t just looking at her, I was showing her.
“I love her,” I said as my hand moved to touch the script. I slid it across the table toward her, like the physical evidence of what I meant. Vanessa didn’t need to look down. Her face didn’t flinch, but her eyes softened to show me that she got it. I knew I wasn’t wrong. Deep down, she cared.
She took a deep breath, then agreed. “I’ll need some time. Her team won’t like it at all.”
I nodded slightly, leaning back into the leather chair. “That will be all, Vanessa. Thank you.”
She got the message and left the room without another word, the door clicking shut behind her.
I let out a long breath, staring at the script before me.
Jules.
24
JULES
My body felt unusually relaxed, and I wasn't sure if it was because of the long, scalding bath I'd soaked in or because I saw Chris again.
A part of me still wanted to punch him for talking to my kids this morning, but if I was being honest, I had to admit that seeing him, Carol, and the kids all together had left me with this low, warm sense of... bliss. Probably because it mirrored my daydreams so closely. And I knew how dangerous it was, building something on the foundation of a fantasy.
But still...
The funny, vulnerable Chris, the one who didn't flinch at my weird comments or blunt questions, the one who looked at me like I was precious and rare, the one who treated my kids (who were very selective with strangers) with so much kindness and ease. That was him. The real Chris.
Maybe he was right. Maybe I was creating a monster problem in my head. Maybe it really was that simple: We were single. We liked each other. We should give this a try.
Still in my robe, I tossed the towel from my damp hair onto the vanity chair and crawled straight into bed. I'd pay for it in the morning when my hair looked like a bird's nest, but I didn't care. Sleep called my name. Or at least it was, until my phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I rolled my eyes to the right, catching a glimpse of the screen. I debated whether to reach over and silence it or suffer through the buzzing. I chose suffering, until it dragged on too long. Groaning, I dragged my arm out, barely lifting off the mattress, and declined the call. I was about to turn off the phone when a text lit up the screen.
"It's me. Chris. Pick up."
