25. Ashlyn
CHAPTER 25
Ashlyn
Shelley’s office is as chaotic as ever. Her desk is piled high with papers, her phone buzzes incessantly, and her assistant is in and out of the room with a steady stream of coffee and messages. I sit across from her, trying to focus on the schedule she’s outlining, but my thoughts keep drifting back to last night.
To Xayden. To the kisses. To the way he said I was his muse.
I swallow hard, crossing my legs to stop my restless foot from bouncing. I need to keep it together. Shelley’s excited chatter pulls me back to the present, her voice bright and animated as she flips through her notes.
“Okay, so let’s talk about the next steps,” Shelley says, leaning forward. “The public loves the idea of you and the guys. The kiss at the show? Absolute gold. But we need to keep the momentum going.”
I shift in my seat, her words pressing uncomfortably against the thoughts I’ve been trying to ignore. “Momentum?”
“Yes!” she says, beaming like this is all part of some grand plan. “The public loves a good love story, and this—Ashlyn, this is perfect. We’ll schedule some fake dates, you and the guys. Not all at once, of course. Spread it out, make it believable. A dinner with one, a concert appearance with another, that kind of thing. It’ll keep the media buzzing.”
Fake dates. Of course.
I nod tightly, my stomach twisting. Shelley’s oblivious to the storm brewing inside me, too focused on her vision for this PR masterpiece to notice. To her, this is all a game, a carefully curated story to keep the public invested. But to me?
The guys aren’t just a story.
“Does that work for you?” Shelley asks, her pen poised above her notebook, waiting for my input like she hasn’t already made up her mind.
I force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “Sure. Sounds great.”
Her grin widens. “Perfect. Oh, and I invited the guys to join us for the planning session. They should be here any minute.”
My heart skips a beat, a mix of excitement and dread crashing into me. “You what?”
Shelley waves a hand, completely unbothered by my reaction. “I thought it’d be good to get their input. Besides, the more natural the chemistry, the better, right?”
Before I can respond, the door swings open, and they walk in.
Todd strides in first, his presence commanding as always, followed by Jake, calm and composed, with West and Xayden close behind. The room instantly feels smaller, the air heavier. My pulse quickens, my body humming with awareness as their scents wash over me—sandalwood and honey, green tea and sage, smoky whiskey, and leather and pepper.
I don’t know how they do it, but the second they’re in the room, it’s like every nerve in my body comes alive. My skin feels warmer, my thoughts scattering as their gazes sweep over me.
“Morning, Ashlyn,” Todd says, his voice low and smooth, his eyes locking on mine for a beat longer than necessary before he looks at Shelley.
“Glad you could make it,” Shelley chirps, oblivious to the way my entire body feels like it’s buzzing with electricity.
Xayden smirks as he drops into the chair beside me, leaning back like he owns the room. His leather-and-pepper scent rises just slightly as he glances my way. “Miss us already, sweetheart?” he murmurs, just low enough that only I can hear. “I know I missed you when you were gone after our show.”
I press my lips together, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, but my heart’s pounding too hard to ignore.
West takes the seat across from me, his eyes dark and unreadable as he leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. Jake sits beside him, his gaze flicking to Shelley, then back to me, calm but watchful.
Shelley launches into the meeting, completely unaware of the tension crackling in the room. She outlines her plans for the fake dates, her excitement growing with every detail. “We’ll start with something simple—a coffee shop visit with Jake, maybe dinner with Todd. A charity event with West, and for Xayden, something edgy, like a club appearance.”
I nod along, my face a practiced mask of agreement, but inside, everything feels tangled. My body is hyper-aware of their presence, my heart racing every time one of them shifts or speaks.
The worst part is how natural it feels to have them here, how much I hate the idea of this being fake when every part of me is screaming for it to be real.
“Thoughts?” Shelley asks, looking between us.
The guys glance at one another, silent communication passing between them before Todd nods. “Sounds doable,” he says, his tone neutral.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to focus on the discussion, even as my whole body feels like it’s on fire with them around. This is just a meeting. Just a plan. I can get through it.
Can’t I?
The meeting drags on, every minute stretching like an eternity. Shelley continues rattling off plans, oblivious to the tension thickening in the room. The guys chime in occasionally, their voices calm and measured, but I can feel the current beneath their words.
Todd sits back in his chair, his gaze sliding to me every so often, his presence pressing against my already frayed nerves. Jake, ever composed, offers practical input, though his eyes flick to me often, softening just slightly when they meet mine. Xayden throws out the occasional sarcastic comment, his smirk never fading, but I catch the way he watches me out of the corner of his eye.
And then there’s West.
He’s quiet, his smoky whiskey-and-almond scent steady but intense, filling the room without trying. He barely speaks, his dark eyes focused on Shelley—or on me when he thinks I’m not looking.
By the time Shelley wraps things up, I’m ready to bolt.
“This is going to be amazing,” Shelley says, beaming at all of us. “Ashlyn, the public is going to eat this up. You and the guys? The perfect modern love story.”
I force a tight smile. “Looking forward to it,” I say, though my voice feels like it belongs to someone else.
Shelley gathers her notes, clearly pleased with herself, and ushers us all out of her office. I manage to stay a step ahead, desperate for fresh air, but as soon as we’re in the hallway, a hand catches my arm.
I stop, my pulse spiking as I turn to see West standing there, his expression unreadable. The others glance back, but he waves them off, his tone low. “I’ll catch up.”
The hallway is quiet now, the distant hum of conversation from the office barely audible. His hand drops from my arm, but he stays close, his dark eyes fixed on mine with a look that makes my breath hitch.
“West,” I say softly, not sure what’s coming but bracing for it anyway.
“I need to say something,” he starts, his voice low and steady, but there’s a rawness to it that catches me off guard.
I stay silent, my heart thundering as I nod for him to continue.
“For me,” he says, his eyes searching mine, “this isn’t fake. None of it. Not the way I feel about you, not the way I’ve always felt.” He pauses, his jaw tightening before he exhales slowly. “I know I messed up. Back then, and probably a hundred other times since. But I’m not going to let that stop me now.”
I open my mouth, but no words come out. The intensity in his gaze pins me in place, his musk wrapping around me, grounding and overwhelming all at once.
“I’m going to do my best to convince you,” he continues, his voice softer now but no less certain. “To forgive me. To believe me. To let me show you that I’m not the same guy who let you walk away.”
His words hit me like a punch to the chest, knocking the air out of me. I swallow hard, my throat tight, but I manage to find my voice. “West… it’s not that simple.”
“I know,” he says, his lips twitching into the faintest smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I don’t care how long it takes. You’re worth it, Ashlyn.”
My heart twists painfully, torn between the ache in his voice and the walls I’ve spent so long building.
Before I can respond, he steps back, giving me space. “I’ll see you later,” he says, his tone quieter now, almost hesitant, like he’s afraid of pushing too far.
I nod, still too shaken to speak, and watch as he turns and walks away, his shoulders tense but his steps sure.
The air feels heavier without him there, and I exhale slowly, leaning back against the wall as I try to steady my racing heart. His words echo in my mind, and no matter how hard I try to push them away, they refuse to leave.
This isn’t fake.
I press a hand to my chest, willing the knot there to loosen. But deep down, I know it won’t. Not anytime soon.
The coffee shop Shelley chose for my "date" with Jake is picture-perfect, like something out of a curated Instagram feed. Soft lighting, cozy corners, and just enough charm to scream “casual romance.” It’s painfully obvious we’re not here for coffee.
The second we step inside, the cameras outside press closer to the windows, their flashes bouncing off the glass like tiny explosions. My heart beats a little faster, but I remind myself why we’re here. This is for the public, for the show. None of it is real.
Jake holds the door for me, his hand hovering at my lower back as we walk in. His touch is light, careful, but even that small gesture sends a ripple through me that I wasn’t expecting. I force a smile, hoping it looks natural, and head toward the corner table Shelley insisted on.
We settle into our seats, and I can feel the weight of the world—or at least the cameras—on me. Every move, every glance, every smile is for them. It’s exhausting.
The barista approaches, and Jake glances at me, one brow lifting in silent question. “Just a cappuccino, thanks,” I say, my voice steady, practiced.
He orders something black and no-nonsense, the same way he approaches most things. When the barista leaves, he leans back in his chair, his gaze settling on me like he has nowhere else to be.
“You good?” he asks softly, his voice low enough that only I can hear.
I nod, the smile still plastered on my face. “Of course. This is exactly what Shelley wanted.”
His eyes narrow slightly, his expression thoughtful. He doesn’t say anything right away, but the way he looks at me makes my stomach twist.
When our drinks arrive, I reach for mine, keeping my movements deliberate, polished, every bit the picture-perfect image Shelley is hoping for. Jake, however, doesn’t play along. He takes a sip of his coffee, then rests his elbows on the table, leaning slightly toward me.
“You know you don’t have to pretend with me,” he says quietly, his words cutting through my carefully constructed wall like a knife.
I blink, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”
Jake’s lips quirk into a small, almost sad smile. “This,” he says, gesturing between us. “You don’t have to act like you’re enjoying yourself for the cameras. If you hate this, just say so.”
I should brush it off, laugh, say something dismissive. But his voice, low and calm, tugs at something buried deep inside me.
“I don’t hate it,” I say finally, the words more defensive than I mean them to be. I clear my throat, forcing a lighter tone. “I know how important this is for the show, for the image Shelley wants to sell.”
His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes soften, the faintest crease forming between his brows. “Ash, this doesn’t have to be about the show.”
The knot in my chest tightens, and I look down, fiddling with the edge of my napkin. “Of course it does. That’s the whole point, right?”
Jake shakes his head, his gaze dropping to his coffee before lifting back to me. “Maybe it started that way. But that’s not why I’m here.”
His words hang in the air, heavy and warm, wrapping around me in a way that makes it hard to breathe.
“This is for them,” I murmur, more to myself than to him, though I know he hears it.
Jake doesn’t respond immediately, but then he reaches across the table, his hand brushing mine. The touch is light, almost hesitant, but it sends a ripple of warmth through me that I can’t ignore.
For the cameras , I tell myself. It’s for the cameras.
But when I glance up, Jake’s eyes are on me, steady and unguarded. There’s something in them—something real—that makes it impossible to look away. The tenderness there, the intensity, feels too genuine to be fake.
“Ashlyn,” he says softly, his thumb grazing the back of my hand, before repeating his words, “This doesn’t have to be pretend. Not with me.”
My breath catches, my heart stuttering in my chest. His words unravel something inside me in the same way West’s words did, leaving me exposed in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
The cameras outside continue to snap away, capturing what must look like the perfect intimate moment. And maybe it is. But that’s what scares me the most.
Because I can’t tell anymore where the act ends and the truth begins.