Chapter 10
10
FAYE
CURRENT STATUS REPORT
Basking in the afterglow
Notes: No notes. 10/10
M orning sunlight filtered through the hotel curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. I stretched lazily, my eyes adjusting to find Sam at the small desk by the window, bent over his notebook. His hair was still mussed from sleep—and, if I were honest—round number three.
Grinning, I rolled onto my side, tucking my hands under my cheek as I watched him. There was something about seeing him there, completely absorbed in his writing, that made my heart flutter.
"Early bird," I mumbled.
He startled slightly, laughing at his own surprise. "Morning sleepyhead. How are you feeling today?”
I stretched, allowing the sheet to slip down and hover just over my nipples. “Well. You?”
His gaze locked on my breasts. “Never better.”
“Do we have time for—” I groaned as my phone let out a cheery buzz. “Hold that thought. I need to take this.”
He closed his notebook, setting it on the dresser. "I'll grab a shower then go rustle us up some breakfast. Room service is gonna take too long.."
“Sounds great.”
I watched him walk toward the bathroom, his butt gloriously clad in his boxers as I answered. "Faye Moyo speaking."
"Ms. Moyo, this is David Cohen from Rolling Stone..."
My heart leapt. Rolling Stone had been our white whale since the band's second album.
“Mr. Cohen, hi, hello!” I scrambled, reaching for Sam’s shirt as I juggled the phone.
“Call me Dave. Look, I know this is late notice but I’ve had a cancellation. Any chance you might be free on Wednesday to discuss that feature?”
“For you? Absolutely! Just tell me where and when.”
“Great, let me give you the address.”
“Sure, um… just let me…” I scrambled for something to write with as he discussed potential interview dates. The only thing within reach was Sam's notebook on the dresser.
"Just one moment," I said smoothly, flipping it open to a blank page at the back. But the page wasn't blank. My name caught my eye, stopping me cold.
Faye colour codes everything. Even her paperclips have a system. I shouldn't find it adorable, but I do.
"Faye?"
"I'm so sorry.” I swallowed hard. “Could you email those dates? Something just came up that requires my immediate attention."
I managed to end the call professionally, but my hands were shaking as I lifted Sam’s notebook.
September 15
Faye color codes everything. Even her paperclips have a system. I shouldn't find it adorable, but I do. Today she organized our entire tour schedule with sticky notes and military precision. Justice actually took notes. She's kind of magnificent when she's in control. Actually, she's kind of magnificent all the time.
I sank onto the bed, my heart thundering.
The next page held lyrics, scratched out and rewritten:
"She's got everything under control
Every minute, every moment
But honey, if you could see
How beautiful you are when you let go
When you smile without planning
When you laugh without warning
When you just let yourself be..."
I recognized that song. It had been on their second album, the one that earned them their first platinum record. I'd always assumed it was about some free-spirited girl who'd caught Sam's eye.
Not about... not about me.
My fingers trembled as I turned the page.
December 3
She fell asleep at her desk again. Third time this week. I moved her to the couch and covered her with my jacket. She curled into it like it was meant for her. Maybe it was. Maybe everything I have has always been meant for her.
Note: remember she likes her coffee extra hot in the morning after late nights. And maybe buy a better blanket for the office couch.
The next pages were filled with more lyrics, more notes. Small observations that I'd never noticed him making:
She touches her left ear when she's nervous in interviews.
Her laugh has different levels - polite (clients), genuine (friends), uncontrolled (rare but worth waiting for)
She still carries that rejection letter in her wallet. I wish I could show her how amazing she is.
Then came the lyrics that broke me:
"Everyone sees the perfect smile
The polished shine, the careful style
But I see the storms you're hiding
Behind those bright brown eyes
Let me be your shelter
Let me be your shade
You don't have to weather
Every storm alone..."
I remembered the date he wrote that. It was the day Alex had stolen my campaign and destroyed my career. I'd been trying so hard to hold it together, to prove I was professional despite the betrayal. Sam had simply appeared with coffee and sat with me in silence until I could breathe again.
I'd never known he'd gone home and written about it.
More pages. More songs. More pieces of me seen through his eyes.
"Just a brown-eyed boy in love with a brown-eyed girl" - written the night of our first major awards show.
"The girl with the lists" - after I'd organized their first international press tour.
"Control Freak" - which wasn't mocking like I'd always assumed, but tender, understanding.
Years of love, hidden in plain sight.
Years of him seeing me, supporting me, loving me... and never asking for anything in return.
A drop of water hit the page. I touched my cheek, surprised to find tears.
The door clicked behind me.
"So do you want a bagel or—shit. Faye?”
And suddenly it was too much. Too real. Too...
I stood,
I stood, clutching his notebook like a lifeline. Our gazes met, his startled, vulnerable, raw.
“When?”
He didn’t have to ask what I meant.
“Forever.”
I closed my eyes, absorbing his confession. Fuck. This wasn’t a fleeting crush for him, wasn’t some impulsive spark he’d only recently felt. This was something he’d been carrying for years, something he’d woven into the very fabric of our lives. Forever. The word echoed through me, terrifying in its certainty.
Because Sam loving me like this didn’t just change things—it upended everything. All my carefully constructed walls, the years I’d spent building a career, crafting my image, keeping my heart under lock and key. My control was my armor, my way of keeping everything neat, planned, predictable. I’d told myself that if I kept things organized, if I always stayed one step ahead, I’d be safe. I wouldn’t get hurt. No one could touch me.
But Sam… Sam had somehow slipped past those defenses, quietly, without asking. He’d seen through my walls, my systems, my need for control. He’d seen me.
Terror ripped through me, fear cold and brutal. I had no color-coded system for this. No carefully planned strategy. No control.
I pressed my hand to my mouth, trying to contain the sob building in my throat. My carefully constructed walls, all my perfect plans, all my need for control... none of it seemed to matter anymore.
Because Sam had written our story in the margins of this notebook.
And I hadn't even known I was the main character.
My phone buzzed, another incoming call.
“I need to take this.” I turned away.
“Faye, don’t. Let’s?—”
“I need you to leave.”
I heard Sam stop behind me.
“Faye.”
“Please,” I whispered, barely holding myself together. “Just give me some time.”
I heard him moving around, before the door opened.
“I’m sorry I hid the truth,” he said softly. “But just know, I’ve never lied. Please, don’t hate me.”
I sighed, glancing at him over my shoulder. “I don’t hate you. I just need time to… adjust.”
He nodded. “Will you be at the concert tonight?”
I forced myself to nod, knowing he needed something, some sign that I wasn’t pulling away entirely, even if that’s exactly what I felt like doing. The thought of facing him tonight, of seeing him onstage, of knowing that every lyric, every look, every smile might be meant for me—it scared me. But I couldn’t bring myself to say no.
His shoulders relaxed slightly, as if that one promise was enough for now. “Okay.”
With that, he slipped out the door, leaving me alone with the buzzing phone, the quiet hotel room, and the notebook still open in my hands. As the door clicked shut, the weight of it all settled over me—years of friendship, hidden feelings, a love I hadn’t known existed, all crashing down like a wave, threatening to pull me under.
My hands shook as I closed the notebook, feeling the walls I’d so carefully built beginning to crack, leaving me exposed, uncertain, vulnerable. And for the first time in my life, I had no plan, no strategy, no way to keep myself safe from the storm Sam had unleashed in me.