Page 123 of Colliding with Ten

“Ha, you’re funny.”

“It wasn’t meant to be. Let’s go.”

Zariah was near the monitors, reviewing a clip with her producer, tablet in one hand, making notes. She looked up as we approached, her expression snapping back to professional warmth.

“Zariah. I don’t think you and Jace were properly introduced earlier. He had a prior commitment with the catering table.”

Jace shot me a look that could’ve peeled paint, but when he turned to Zariah, the look was gone. He was composed, determined to be seen.

He extended his hand. “Jace Rockett.”

She took it. “Zariah Brooks. It’s nice to meet you.”

He shook her hand as he met her gaze. “Likewise.”

Zariah tapped her pen against the tablet. “Would you ever be interested in sitting down? I’d love to have a conversation.”

“I’d be open to that.”

She pulled a card from her pocket and handed it to him. “My info. Whenever you’re ready.”

He took it, still gazing at her. “Appreciate that.”

She nodded, giving him a polite smile, and turned back to her producer.

Jace stayed silent until we were through the studio doors and out of earshot. In the hallway, he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for the entire conversation. “That was better.”

I shrugged because I knew it would annoy him.

“I was smooth.”

“You were adequate.”

“I was smooth, Lennox.”

I quirked my brow, and he shook his head.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“You’d do the same for me.”

He nodded, slipped the card into his pocket, and started walking toward the exit. I checked my phone—no new messages. I thought about what Jace had said earlier. The phone worked both ways. Somebody had to go first.

I could call her and ask her the questions that had been rotting inside me for seven days. I could go first again, but the interview was airing in a few days. I’d said things on camera that I needed her to hear. My words couldn’t fix everything, but she needed to know that while she’d been silent, I’d thought about this.

I put the phone back in my pocket. I could wait a few more days. If Jace was right and she was scared like I was, the interview might do what my pride wouldn’t—go first for both of us.

Jace called out from ahead. “Yo, you think she likes Italian food?”

I chuckled. “Ask her yourself.”

“I just wanna know your opinion.”

“My opinion is that you’re hopeless.”

He stopped. “But hopeless in a charming way, right?”

I shook my head and kept walking, but smiling.