Now it came down to this: a legitimate discovery call with a midsize firm that needed help rebuilding their social media presence after a messy merger—two brands, two voices, one confused audience.
They didn’t know my last name carried weight.
They didn’t care who my parents were.
They just wanted to know if I could fix what was broken.
If I landed this, it would be the first real step. Proof that I could build something from the ground up—on my own instincts, my own expertise.
I wasn’t ready to quit my job yet. Not because I needed it, but because I refused to let my parents, my trust fund, or one bad month dictate the timing of my life. I wanted to walk away on my terms. With proof in hand.
This wasn’t fear.
This was strategy.
The thought made my chest buzz with equal parts thrill and terror.
Because wanting this meant risking failure in a way I never had before. There would be no one to blame. No one to cushion the fall.
Just me.
I took a breath, straightened my shoulders, andglanced at my reflection in the dark screen of my laptop. Motivated. Capable. Maybe even confident, if I squinted.
You can do this, I told myself. Youaredoing this.
My phone buzzed on the kitchen table ten minutes before the call.
The sound snapped my attention sharp, my pulse jumping before I even checked the screen.
A text from Ledger.
My heart did a stupid, reflexive flip at seeing his name, like it hadn’t gotten the memo that things were supposed to benormalagain.
Ledger
Coach sent the updated Trials schedule. I’ll forward it to you. Media obligations shifted too.
Polite. Neutral. All business.
I stared at the screen longer than necessary, thumb hovering as if there were some hidden message between the lines. There wasn’t. There was no teasing, no warmth, and no trace of the man who’d kissed me in our kitchen like he’d been holding his breath for weeks.
I typed back anyway.
Roxie
Okay. Thanks.
The reply sent felt small.
I hated how much it stung. Hated how quickly I missed the easy routine we’d slipped into. The check-ins.The quiet looks. The way he’d started asking if I was okay like it mattered to him personally.
This version of Ledger—careful, distant, professional—felt like a door closing softly but firmly in my face. Like he’d decided retreat was safer than pretending nothing had changed.
And maybe it was.
But that didn’t make it hurt less.
Soon the call went live, and I shoved the feeling down where it belonged.
