Chapter 1
Marissa
My heart's running a marathon, doing the cha-cha, and seriously considering a breakdancing routine—all thanks to Mr. Tall, Dark, and Distractingly Attractive right in front of me.
If my ticker keeps up this Olympic-level performance, I might just beat Usain Bolt to the afterlife. And the culprit? That Greek god who stumbled into my orbit.
This is it—the man I've been crushing on for ages is about to kiss me. His magnetic charm and dazzling smile keep me spellbound. Goosebumps surface on my arm when his fingers slightly graze my cheek in a featherlike touch, leaving a violent burst of butterfly wings in my stomach.
But just as things are about to get interesting, my alarm mercilessly blares, shattering the dreamy illusion. I groan, fumbling to turn it off. Reality hits hard, and I glance at the clock in disbelief. I'm running late for work.
Mornings are not my forte.
As I rush to get ready, I attempt to salvage whatever is left of my morning routine. Toothbrush, check. Coffee, check. Outfit ... well, that's a bit more complicated. In a whirlwind, I rush to the closet, scanning through hangers as if my life depends on finding the perfect outfit.
Finally, I settle on a blouse that says, "I'm professional, but I can also have a good time." I pair it with the pants that make my legs look longer than my patience in traffic. And of course, no morning is complete without the click-clack of my favorite heels against the hardwood floor.
As I tug on the heels, my phone vibrates on the dresser. It's Cindy, my perpetually sassy best friend since forever.
"Hey, Cindy!"
"Marissa, darling! Please tell me you haven't forgotten our lunch date today." Cindy's voice practically oozes sarcasm, her tone a blend of concern and amusement.
I roll my eyes, knowing she can't see it but feeling the need to express myself nonetheless. "Of course not. Just running fashionably late for work."
"Sweetie, if you were any more fashionable, you'd be in a museum," she fires back, and I can't help but laugh. "Besides, I'm the only one allowed to be fashionably late. It's in the best friend handbook."
"I must have missed that chapter. Remind me to catch up on my reading."
As I hurriedly grab my keys, she continues, "By the way, did you hear about that new cafe downtown? Rumor has it they have a latte that can cure Monday blues."
"Monday blues, you say? I might need a lifetime supply then."
Unlocking the door and stepping out, my own two feet suddenly decided to rebel against me. They tangle like rebellious partners on a dance floor, threatening to trip me into a full-fledged face plant, but thank goodness, I manage to grip the doorknob tightly.
If it weren’t for work, I wouldn’t think of being out by this time. Neither would I be stumbling like a toddler.
Oh, the love affair I have with my job! But on days like these, quitting struts into my mind, flaunting the promise of blissful slumber. Yet, I resist because who needs sleep when you've got bills to pay?
"Oh, trust me, darling, a lifetime supply is precisely what we need. I'll meet you and Hailey there at noon. Don't be fashionably late, though—we're not trying to start a trend," Cindy advises, and I can practically see her rolling her eyes.
The commute is a blur of honking horns and hurried pedestrians. The city pulses with life, and I weave through the chaos with the finesse of someone who has mastered the art of navigating a concrete jungle.
My thoughts drift back to the dreamy encounter with the one man who has always had the ability to turn my insides molten, and even though I know I shouldn't, I catch myself smiling like a teenager with a secret crush.
The brisk air hits my face when I step out of the car. As I approach the office building, the anticipation of another workday settles in.
Just before I can slip through the revolving door unnoticed, a familiar voice calls out from behind.
Oh, no. Not today.
I could recognize that voice even in my sleep because of how much of a chatterbox she is. It's Jenna, my bubbly and overly talkative colleague.
Brace yourself, Marissa.
"Hey, Marissa! Wait up!" Jenna catches up to me, her high heels clicking with every step. "Love your shoes! How was your weekend?"
"Thanks, Jenna. The weekend was ... well, you know, the usual," I reply, trying to keep it vague, hoping she won't dive too deep into my personal affairs.
She's got a knack for unmasking the juiciest secrets, though I'm an open book. Everyone tiptoes around her, fearing their business might end up as her latest headline rather than a private matter.
Her eyes light up with excitement. "Oh, the usual, huh? Girl, you won't believe the weekend I had. I met this guy at a coffee shop, and we ended up salsa dancing until the early hours. Can you imagine?"
As Jenna regales her weekend adventures, a twinge of envy settles in my gut. My weekend consisted of a fierce battle between me and a bag of potato chips while Chandler Bing cracked jokes on the screen. Not exactly the stuff of epic tales.
I flash a tired smile, genuinely happy for her but not quite ready for her Monday morning enthusiasm. "Sounds like a blast. I spent my weekend in a thrilling pursuit of my couch's most comfortable spot."
Jenna's eyes widen in mock horror. Dramatic much?
"You did what? Marissa, honey, that's not living. You need some excitement in your life. Spice things up a bit!"
I release a dry chuckle because this is a line I've heard a thousand times. It's why Cindy keeps insisting that I don't forget our lunch date. It's not like I'm a loner. I just prefer the safe confines of my own space to actually hanging out.
"Well, I did binge-watch Friends. Does that count as excitement?"
She draws in a scenic gasp, placing a hand on her chest. "Oh no. That's a cry for help."
I lift my right shoulder in a half-shrug, feigning nonchalance. "Hey, I enjoy my cozy weekends. Besides, Ross and Rachel's on-again, off-again drama is oddly comforting."
Jenna shakes her head, her disapproval evident. But I don't exactly care what people think about me, especially not her.
"You're living in a sitcom when you could be living in a blockbuster movie like the ones the company makes, darling. We need to get you out more. You can't let your couch become your best friend. Go out, meet people, live a little!"
I raise an eyebrow, "My couch is pretty reliable, though. It never cancels plans on me."
She laughs, "Fair point, but seriously, you're young, beautiful, and working in the film industry. The world is your oyster, and you're stuck with a couch. It's tragic, really."
We reach the elevator, and I press the button, amused by Jenna's zeal. But it's Jenna. I don't know why she still manages to surprise me.
"Well, I did contemplate going for a walk once, but then I realized I'd have to put on real pants. That was a deal-breaker."
Jenna rolls her eyes, "Real pants? The horror! But seriously, Marissa, you need some excitement. Maybe we should hit a club next weekend. I know a place with killer music, and I promise, no salsa dancing unless you're into it."
The elevator doors open, and we step in, joining the herd of colleagues ready for another week in the film production hustle.
"Clubbing, huh? I'll think about it."
And ladies and gentlemen, that translates to a big fat no. There's no way in heaven or hell I'm going clubbing with her of all people.
The silence closes in on me as Jenna and the others leave the elevator. It starts up again, and I take it down by myself while the low hum of the engine and the familiar metallic smell surround me.
As the doors start to close, a hand slides between them, halting their progress. I glance up, ready to offer a polite smile to whoever's joining the ride up.
But as the doors slide open again, my heart leaps into my throat, and the blood drains from my face. I'm frozen in place, my pulse racing.
It's him.
Bryce Alston. My childhood crush. My best friend's brother.
Time freezes as he enters, his presence dominating the space. Our eyes meet briefly, a split second that feels like an eternity, and an electric current zaps through my veins, leaving me breathless.
The lanky boy I once knew has transformed into a man who commands attention effortlessly. Dark, tousled hair frames his face. Deep brown eyes, once warm and familiar, now carry an intensity that pierces through me. A sculpted jawline and a hint of stubble add to his allure, making my heart race in ways I never thought possible.
His shoulders are wide, and his suit is tight across them, showing off his strength, which is more than I expected. The fabric of his suit clings to his body, emphasizing his muscles, and I can’t help but notice how well-built he is.
How is this possible? After all these years, after everything that happened between us, Bryce is here.
His eyes briefly flash with recognition as the elevator doors close, trapping us in this small space, but they quickly return to a guarded expression.
The air between us crackles with tension, and the limited distance separating our bodies becomes acutely apparent. Heat rises to my cheeks, a telltale sign of the effect he has on me, even after all these years.
Of all the elevators in the city, Bryce just had to step into mine.
Great.