Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Carlene drove back to the hotel with the windows down and the radio off.
The sound of the wind filled the car, but it couldn’t quiet the noise in her head.
Every word from the interview replayed on a loop, layered with Jami’s voice, the hum of the cameras, and the polite smile of that reporter who had clearly wanted to catch her slipping, and made it known that she'd like to get to know Jami a bit better.
She gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to shake it all loose. Every problem had a solution. That was what she’d built her career on. But today, with virtually no sleep, she couldn’t see the path forward, and that terrified her.
By the time she pulled into the hotel parking lot, her shoulders ached from tension.
The sunlight glinted on the windows of the lobby, but it didn’t bring comfort.
She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror before going inside.
Her eyes looked tired, makeup smudged at the corners.
Not the polished professional the label expected.
Not the look she wanted to present to Jami.
Now more than ever, she needed to be strong.
She climbed the stairs to her room, heels tapping a slow rhythm on the old wood. Each step echoed the same thought. You shouldn’t have let him in.
When she unlocked the door and stepped inside, the silence was deafening. No ringing phones, no notifications, no one asking for her advice. For the first time in days, she was alone.
She set her laptop bag on the desk and stood there, staring at it. Her whole life lived in that machine, every campaign, every win, every sleepless night spent fixing someone else’s disaster. It was supposed to make her feel safe. But right now, all it represented was the mess she was in.
Carlene kicked off her shoes, letting them fall beside the bed, and sat down. Her hands trembled slightly. She had held it together for so long that her body didn’t seem to know what to do now that she didn’t have to.
At first, it was just one tear. Then another.
Then the dam broke.
She folded forward, elbows on her knees, and cried.
Deep, shaking sobs that left her gasping for breath.
Tears hit her palms and soaked the fabric of her slacks.
Every ounce of frustration, fear, and exhaustion poured out at once.
The sabotage, the public scrutiny, the sleepless nights, and the one mistake she hadn’t meant to make.
And didn't know how she'd not make it again.
She cried for all of it.
When there were no tears left, she sat there breathing hard, staring at the floor. Her chest hurt. Her eyes burned. She pressed a cold washcloth against her face, then dropped it to the floor and laughed bitterly through the last of the tears.
“Get it together,” she whispered.
She stood, picked up the washcloth, and walked to the mirror. Her reflection didn’t look like the woman she’d trained herself to be. Her hair had fallen out of its clip, her mascara had smudged, and her eyes were swollen. But worse than that was what she saw in them, vulnerability.
That was what she hated most.
She’d spent years making sure no one could ever see her weak.
Not after what Reed & Carr had done to her.
She could still remember standing in that sterile conference room while her old boss called her reckless for questioning a client’s ethics.
The dressing down she'd taken in front of her entire team at Reed & Carr still made her heart race. Her cheeks burned with the memory, making her sweat. Humiliation had become embedded in her bones. She’d sworn never to let anyone have that kind of power over her again.
Until Jami.
She grabbed the edge of the sink, fingers digging into the porcelain. “You knew better,” she whispered. “You knew exactly what this was.”
He wasn’t just another client. Somewhere between the first late-night planning session and the quiet moments in the barn, he had become something else. Someone she thought about when she shouldn’t. Someone she trusted when she didn’t trust anyone.
Her reflection stared back, defiant now. “You’re not falling for him,” she said, her voice low but sharp. “You can’t.”
She pushed away from the mirror and paced the room, bare feet whispering across the carpet. The anger felt better than the tears. It steadied her.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She froze when she saw his name.
Jami.
Her heart gave a painful lurch, and for a moment she almost reached for it. She wanted to hear his voice, to believe the comfort she felt with him wasn’t just another illusion. But she knew better.
She let it ring.
When it stopped, the silence settled heavier than before.
Carlene walked to the window and drew the curtains aside. The world outside was bright and sparkly, the sun reflecting through the window and across the field, wavering lines. A couple walked along the street, holding hands, their laughter faint but clear.
She wrapped her arms around herself and stared out at the scene. She’d never been good at this part, letting anyone close. It always ended the same way. Someone left. Someone disappointed her. Someone proved that love was a distraction she couldn’t afford.
She thought she’d buried that part of herself for good.
But today, standing in the sliver of sun streaming through her window, she couldn’t deny what Jami Hart had done to her. His voice still echoed in her head, rough and sincere, the way he’d said she didn’t deserve to take the hit. The way he’d looked at her like she was more than the hired PR firm.
Her pulse quickened just thinking about it.
She pressed her forehead against the warm glass and whispered, “Enough.”
The word felt thin and fragile. She said it again, firmer this time. “Enough.”
Tomorrow she’d wake up and rebuild her armor. She’d meet with Tony and the label, polish the next phase of the campaign, and pretend the last few days hadn’t cracked her open.
She would go back to being the woman who fixed everything.
But right now, she let herself feel the full weight of what she had been holding back. The longing. The exhaustion. The quiet heartbreak of knowing she wanted something she couldn’t have.
When she finally crawled into bed, she didn’t bother undressing. She lay there staring at the ceiling until her vision blurred. The pillow beneath her head was damp from tears that continued to track down her temples, and her phone glowed faintly on the nightstand.
She didn’t reach for it.
Sleep came slowly, unevenly, and restlessly. But for the first time in years, she allowed herself to feel broken. And though it hurt, a small, defiant part of her hoped that maybe, just maybe, feeling something that real again meant she was still alive.