“And if I end it?”
“Then we weather this storm. The rumor dies down, people move on to the next scandal, and you keep building the career you’ve worked so hard for.”
She makes it sound so simple. So clinical. Like feelings are just another variable to factor into a cost-benefit analysis.
“How long do I have to decide?”
“By the end of the day tomorrow.” Dana’s expression softens, just slightly. “I’m sorry, Tori. I know this isn’t fair. But fair isn’t really how this industry works.”
“No,” I agree quietly. “It’s not.”
I stand on legs that feel shaky and unreliable, but I make it to the door without stumbling.
“Tori.”
I turn back. Dana is watching me with what might be sympathy.
“For what it’s worth,” she says, “I hope he’s worth it. Whatever you decide.”
I don’t respond because I don’t know if he is. I don’t know if anyone could be worth this.
I make it to my car before I fall apart. The tears come out of nowhere—big, ugly sobs that shake my whole body, tears I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. I press my hands over my faceand cry in the front seat of my Honda, mourning everything I’m about to lose no matter which door I choose.
Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? There’s no version of this where I win. I either lose him or I lose my career. I either break my own heart or I dismantle everything I’ve spent years building. The rule existed for exactly this reason—because I knew, Iknew, that getting involved with a player would end exactly like this.
And I did it anyway.
24
CRISIS MANAGEMENT
Zayden
Tori hasn’t texted me back in three hours.
I’m not the kind of guy who stares at his phone waiting for a reply. I have a kid to raise, a career to maintain, and better things to do than refresh my messages like a teenager with a crush.
And yet here I am, sitting in my kitchen at 4 PM, staring at my phone as if it owes me something.
Me (1:47 PM):Hey. You okay? You seemed off this morning.
Me (3:33 PM):Starting to worry. Just let me know you’re good.
Me (4:15 PM):Tori?
Nothing. Radio silence. Three blue check marks stare back at me, which means she’s seen them but is choosing not to respond.
That’s... not like her.
Maisie’s at gymnastics until five, so I’ve got a little while to spiral in peace. I make an energy drink I don’t need, pace the length of my living room, and check my phone eleven more times. I’m probably winding myself up over nothing. She’s busy.She’s working. She’s got patients, paperwork, and a hundred things more important than reassuring her... whatever I am.
Boyfriend? That feels presumptuous. We haven’t had that conversation.
Guy she’s been sneaking around with? Accurate but depressing.
Man who’s falling so hard for her he can barely see straight? Unfortunately also accurate.
My phone buzzes, and I nearly drop it grabbing for it, but it’s not Tori. It’s Banks.
