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“SAINT!”

He laughs loudly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I refuse to answer. Which only makes him laugh harder.

The trader hall is surprisingly quiet. Doors opened almost an hour ago and we’re all ready, but people are filtering through slowly, too slowly. I arrange my books into neat little piles for what feels like the hundredth time. Please be better than yesterday. Please. I still have boxes. Actual boxes hidden under my table. If I have to carry them all home again, I will cry.

Glancing around the hall, I wonder where Jax is, probably finishing his run or talking to his agent. My smile could outshine the moon—I can’t believe last night happened. I can’t believe any of this happened.

I’ve spent years with a brain that never switches off. Thoughts crashing into thoughts. Lists, worries, anxiety, impossible endless tangents and noise. Yet somehow with Jax it’s quiet. He doesn’t fix me or ask me to be less, he just… Helps to turn the noise off for a while. I’ve never experienced anything like it before.

I’m still smiling to myself when a shadow falls across my table, and a man in a sharp navy suit smiles at me. “Brianna Wildblood?”

“Yes?”

He holds out his hand. “Jason.” I shake it. “I’m Jax’s agent.”

My smile falters. “Oh.”

“I wonder if you have a moment?”

“Uhm, yeah sure. Is everything ok?” Anxiety twists deep in my stomach.

Reaching into a leather folder he retrieves a document, sliding it across the table. “I just need you to sign this.”

“What is this…”

“It’s a non-disclosure agreement.”

The noise in my brain increases, making it difficult to process. “I’m sorry what?”

“It’s standard procedure.”

Standard procedure, the words echo around my head. Jax needed to call his agent. His agent is here. With paperwork. My chest tightens. Oh. Oh, of course, you idiot. It wasn’t real. He needs damage control. He needs to protect himself from his mistake. People like Jax don’t fall for people like me. Last night. This morning. None of it mattered to him. I’m so stupid, he’s an actor, of course he can fake it. His reputation is literally that of a player, why would I be the exception?

Picking up the pen, I sign my name absently and slide the document back towards him, glaring. “There,” I say sharper than intended.

His smile falters slightly. “Uh, thank you.”

My eyes threaten to leak and I turn my back on him, willing him to leave.

I will not fucking cry over a man. I will not fucking cry. Fuck Jackson fucking Shaw. Stupid Mr Smells-Like-Autumn-in-The-Wrong-Month! Captain Asshole of the assholes.

I’m still staring at the empty space where he’d been standing when my first customer appears. Then another. Then another. I smile. Sign books. Smile. Say thank you. Smile some more. Take payments and sign more books, unpacking boxes from under my table. More people arrive. Then more. Someone asks for a photograph. Someone else wants three signed copies. The queue keeps growing and when I finally look up the line stretches halfway across the hall. What?

Security arrives and gently directs people, shifting the queue from blocking an emergency exit. What is going on? I sign another book and my hand aches, my throat is dry, I need the toilet, I am starving! I haven’t eaten since breakfast. But how can I leave? The queue never ends; I’m panicking… It’s threatening to overwhelm me… Get a grip Bri.

“Bri, you ok?” I look up. Lennie is standing next to me, having slid into my stall unnoticed. Relief nearly knocks me sideways. “I heard you were busy.”

I laugh hysterically. “Just a little.”

“A little?” He looks at the queue. “That look’s more like a queue for one of the celebrities.”

I laugh again but it’s dangerously close to tears.

Lennie's face wrinkles with concern. "When did you last eat or drink?"

“I’m fine.”