Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
The truth is, I didn’t know what to do with that little interaction between Jaxon and me last night.
But when I finally made it back to my room, I took one of the best showers of my life. The steam—infused with eucalyptus—cleared my sinuses and my head. There was no tossing, no turning. No staring at the ceiling, wondering why my chest felt tight. None of that last night.
By the time my face hit the pillow, I felt light. Rinsed clean. Sleep came instantly.
Nope.
Anxiety just waited until morning to pounce.
It’s barely past seven, and already I feel like my day is sprinting ahead without me. I practically leap out of bed, survival mode fully activated.
First: check my calendar.
Just as I remembered: a virtual table reading at nine. I exhale maybe twenty percent of my anxiety. There’s time.
Second: get dressed.
I pull on a plain black cashmere sweatsuit, already thinking about my script, laptop, and extra monitor. I’m pretty sure Anita was supposed to show me my office, but after I called her out on her passive-aggressiveness, she cut the tour short.
Sliding into a pair of multicolored striped socks, I grab my phone and head out, determined to find the workspace myself.
I wonder where Jaxon’s bedroom is. The last thing I need is to stumble into it by accident. I remember that all the fun stuff—the spa, gym, theater, private pool—is on the opposite side of the house. Kitchen and living room are dead center.
If my office were near any of that, Anita would’ve shown me.
Which means... it’s probably on this side.
I pass a sleek powder room—minimal and elegant, like the rest of the place. Then, at the next doorway, I startle so hard my hand flies to my chest.
Shirtless, Jaxon sits cross-legged on the floor, facing the eastern city view, sunlight spilling over him like some ancient warrior-god.
His back is pure perfection. Of course.
You can’t do what Jaxon does for a living and not be in optimal shape.
“Sorry,” I blurt, just as he turns—before I can escape.
At least he doesn’t look annoyed.
He pivots fully toward me.
“It’s fine. How’d you sleep?”
Wow.
His chest is a work of art.
“Good.” The word comes out too fast. Too bright.
His calm only amplifies my jitteriness.
“I’m looking for the office so I can start work. Anita didn’t show me.”
God, I actually feel a little upset about that.
He studies me. And the longer he does, the more intense the tingling in my chest.
“What?” I snap, suddenly defensive. “Say what you’re thinking already.”
He doesn’t blink. “Is this how you’re going to work?”
I frown, glancing down at my outfit, tugging at my ponytail—defensive and embarrassed. “What do you mean?”
He laughs softly. “Not your appearance. You look…”
He pauses, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“I mean your energy.”
I straighten like a soldier, trying to give off something more impressive. More… together.
“My energy?”
He pats the floor beside him.
“Come sit. Let me show you something.”
Smashing my hands onto my waist, I hesitate. It’s so hard to make myself sit beside Jaxon and do nothing.
I’m in work mode. I’m in chasing-my-future mode.
“Come on,” he urges again.
I sigh hard—surrendering to the inner struggle—and walk over, settling beside him.
“You know, usually—”
“Shhh…” he says gently. “Close your eyes. Feel the stillness.”
My mouth stays stuck open. I want to tell him I get what he’s trying to do. I’ve tried this before. It never worked.
Powering ahead is what worked. Staying busy.
“I have a meeting at nine,” I manage to say.
“This won’t take long, Zara. You’ll see—it’ll help.”
He places a hand lightly on the small of my back. His voice is soft, coaxing.
“Go ahead. Trust me. Close your eyes.”
With a deep sigh, I do it. The sooner this is over, the better.
“Think about everything you have to do today,” he says quietly, “and try to arrange the tasks in order—like one giant puzzle. Do it.”
There it is. That bossy tone. Even now.
Why does it bother me so much?
I squeeze my eyes tighter, trying to dissolve the flare of irritation.
Okay. I need to eat breakfast.
Egg, toast, and coffee before the read—that’s why this little exercise is so inconvenient.
I sigh sharply.
“Keep going,” he says calmly, like he knows exactly what that sigh meant.
I roll my eyes—under my lids.
The table read, of course. I’m ready to show the cast and producers they were right to take a chance on me.
Later this afternoon, Jaxon and I are supposed to have dinner in Little Italy. A whole PR stunt.
Paparazzi are in town. Their job is to “catch” us looking cozy. We’re not supposed to see them.
Oh—and I have to call Kat before the table read, check if anything new popped up on my schedule or if any urgent calls came in.
That’s after I eat. Then table read. Then I’ll see.
“Four breaths in, six out,” Jaxon whispers.
And somehow, now that my day has a little order to it, those breaths come easier.
Not only that—but my anxiety is gone.
Instead, I feel…
What is this?
I’m not relaxed.
I’m not even invigorated.
I’m in control.
That’s it. I’m in control.
“Open your eyes,” he says.
And I do.
We’re staring at each other.
And—God—I’m smiling.
But he’s not.
He’s just staring, like he did before rushing out of the theater.
“Zara,” he finally whispers, voice thick.
“Hmm?” I’m entranced by the look in his eyes.
He takes my chin between his index finger and thumb.
I blink, hard.
Because in this moment, it feels like a dream—his lips inching closer to mine.
And I’ll let him kiss me.
I want it.
I want it so badly.
I even close my eyes to receive it.
“Breakfast is in the kitchen,” he whispers, his warm breath brushing my mouth.
When I open my eyes, he’s staring—holding himself back.
Is this a game?
Is he teasing me?
“Was there something on my chin?” I ask, voice echoing through the mostly empty room as I push his fingers away.
And then—he does it.
Jaxon’s warm, wet mouth presses into mine.
His tongue sweeps inside, and suddenly my head feels light, like it’s drifting off my shoulders.
Our tongues tangle—slow, sensual.
My nipples tighten.
My skin heats.
This is…
“Uh…” he groans, breaking the kiss. “Shit.”
I don’t know what to do next.
I did not imagine this happening today—but now it’s happened, and it’s thrown everything off.
Or… it could, if I let it.
I scramble to my feet.
Straighten my sweats.
Stand tall.
Determined to pretend that kiss—even though it’s still echoing through every part of me—never happened.
“Um… where’s my office?” I ask, dazed.
“Next door,” he says, still on the floor, not moving an inch.
I nod.
Then head to the kitchen.
Breakfast. Call with Kat. Table read.
And then…
Oh no.
I’ll be alone with Jaxon again.