127
The last of the lights dimmed, and the buzz of the photoshoot began to fade into tired but satisfied chatter. Crew members were still flipping through shots on monitors, laughing over bloopers, and packing up racks of clothes.
"Hey, Amanda!" one of the stylists called out, grinning as they tugged off their headset. "We're heading out to celebrate. Drinks, food—the works. You in?"
Others chimed in quickly:
"You have to come!"
"This was your shoot. You can't just go home."
"C'mon, we won't take no for an answer."
Amanda blinked, caught off guard. She adjusted the tablet under her arm, ready to politely decline. But before she could, Ericka stood from her chair, her gaze warm and knowing.
"You should go," Ericka said softly, stepping close enough so only Amanda could hear. "You worked hard for this. Let them celebrate you."
Amanda's lips tugged into the faintest smile. "And you?"
Ericka brushed her hand lightly across Amanda's arm in a fleeting touch. "I'll head home. Rest. You don't need to hover over me tonight. Go have fun."
Amanda studied her, catching the quiet sincerity in her eyes. Ericka meant it.
"Alright," Amanda said finally, turning back to the crew. "Count me in."
Cheers went up around the room, the excitement infectious. Someone shouted, "Yes! Amanda's coming!" and the group began tossing out bar names and food options.
As the chatter swirled, Amanda pulled her phone from her pocket. She typed out a quick message to Samantha:
"Hey, just wrapped the shoot. Heading out with some coworkers to celebrate. You should join us."
She slipped her phone back into her jacket, her heart beating a little faster at the thought.
Across the room, Ericka caught Amanda's gaze, her lips curving into a smile equal parts proud and teasing. She mouthed, Go enjoy yourself.
Amanda gave her a small nod, already knowing she'd spend most of the night thinking about her anyway.
The crew spilled out of the studio in high spirits, laughter echoing in the evening air as they piled into cars and rideshares. Amanda went along with them, tucked between stylists still buzzing about the shoot and the photographer already making jokes about needing another coffee before drinks.
The bar they chose wasn't flashy—dim lights, music humming just loud enough to fill the background, with a few tables pushed together to make space for everyone.
Plates of nachos, sliders, and fries covered the center like a feast, and the first round of drinks was already on the way by the time Amanda settled in.
"Alright," the photographer announced, raising his glass once the drinks arrived. "To Amanda—for running a shoot tighter than I've ever seen. Smoothest day we've had in years. Cheers!"
"Cheers!" the group echoed, glasses clinking all around. Amanda lifted hers with a small smile, the warmth of the moment softening her usual sharp edges.
Conversation flowed easily. A stylist leaned across the table to Amanda, grinning. "You know, you've got the kind of presence that makes people actually want to work harder. Not many can pull that off."
Amanda smirked, shaking her head. "Or maybe you're all just scared of me."
Laughter erupted around the table, though more than a few people shook their heads and insisted, "No—respect."
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Amanda slipped it out under the table, her heart skipping when she saw the reply from Samantha:
"Sounds fun. I'll be there in 20. Don't let them get you too drunk before I arrive ??."
Amanda smirked, tucking the phone away. She glanced around the table at her coworkers, everyone leaning into the camaraderie, and for the first time in a while, she allowed herself to relax fully into it.
Twenty minutes later, the bar door opened, and Samantha slipped inside. Her eyes scanned the crowd until she spotted Amanda. She made her way over, her smile bright.
"You didn't think you'd get rid of me that easily, did you?" Samantha teased as she slid into the empty seat beside her.
Amanda chuckled. "Wouldn't dream of it."
The first bar was only the warm-up. After two rounds of drinks, one of the stylists slammed their glass down and grinned wide.
"This is too tame. C'mon—karaoke bar, two blocks over. Let's go embarrass ourselves properly."
Cheers erupted around the table. No one needed much convincing.
They spilled into the night as a group, Amanda caught between laughter and lighthearted protests. "Don't say I didn't warn you—I'm terrible at karaoke."
"That's the point!" the photographer yelled over his shoulder, already waving down a cab.
The karaoke bar was buzzing when they arrived, neon lights splashing color across the dark room, music echoing from the back where a small stage sat. Their crew pushed a few tables together, immediately ordering another round.
"Shots first," someone declared, slapping the menu down.
"Two rounds," Samantha added, her grin playful as she looked at Amanda. "You in?"
Amanda raised a brow, smirking. "You trying to keep up with me, or knock me out?"
"Both," Samantha shot back, and the group laughed.
The shots arrived—small glasses lined up in rows across the table.
The first round went down fast, everyone wincing, laughing, and cheering as the burn hit their throats.
By the second round, the crew was loud, arms slung around each other, voices already raised in half-sung choruses with whatever song played overhead.
Samantha leaned close to Amanda, her eyes glinting. "Bet you won't get up there."
Amanda smirked, her voice steady. "Bet you I will. But only if you're up there with me."
The table erupted in cheers as Samantha groaned, shaking her head. "You're cruel."
Minutes later, their names flashed on the screen, and the first chords of a classic hit blasted through the speakers. Amanda and Samantha stepped onto the tiny stage, mics in hand, laughter bubbling as the crowd cheered them on.
"C'mon, Amanda!" the photographer shouted. "Show us what you've got!"
Amanda smirked, mic in hand. "Don't get too excited. I'm terrible at this."
What no one knew—not the crew, not Samantha, not even Ericka—was that Amanda wasn't terrible at all. She'd grown up singing in her room, her voice strong and rich, but it wasn't something she shared. Work, life, the walls she'd built—singing didn't fit into any of it.
Samantha gave her a mock glare as the first chords started. "Don't leave me hanging."
Amanda lifted the mic, lips parting as the lyrics scrolled across the screen. She started out quiet, almost casual, but when the chorus hit, her voice slipped—smooth, warm, carrying more control than she'd meant to reveal.
Heads turned at the table. The stylist's jaw dropped. "Wait—what? Amanda can sing?"
Amanda laughed between lines, shaking her head, brushing it off like it was nothing. "It's the tequila talking."
But she couldn't hide it. Her voice filled the room, blending with Samantha's playful dramatics. Samantha stopped mid-line at one point, staring at her with wide eyes. "You liar," she mouthed, grinning, before diving back into the song.
By the final chorus, the whole table was shouting along, glasses in the air.
Amanda leaned into it, letting go of her usual restraint.
For once, she wasn't the assistant, the planner, or the woman holding it all together—she was just Amanda, belting out a song, laughter in her chest, the crowd cheering her on.
When the music faded, the bar erupted in applause. Amanda handed the mic back with a shrug, smirking as she slid off the stage.
"Told you," she said to Samantha, her voice steady. "I'm terrible."
Samantha bumped her shoulder, laughing. "Terrible? Please. That was insane. You've been holding out on us."
Amanda only smirked, sipping from her glass as the next brave soul stumbled onto the stage. "Some things are better kept secret."