Chapter 2
two
. . .
Jake
The bag swings back hard and I catch it with both hands, my palms slamming into the vinyl as I steady it before driving my right fist forward again. The impact reverberates all the way up my arm, a sharp jolt that I’m hoping knocks a memory of one perfect night out of my brain.
It doesn’t.
Left hook. Right cross. Another combination, faster this time, my shoulders burning, breath coming rough and shallow.
Three months.
It’s been three months and I still can’t stop thinking about her.
I shift my stance, roll my shoulders, and go again. Jab, jab, cross. I try to punch the memory out of my head, like maybe if I hit hard enough I can knock July out of my skull and send it skidding across the slick gym floor.
No luck.
“You trying to murder that bag or just maim it?”
I glance over my shoulder. Wyatt is leaning against the wall like he has all the time in the world, one ankle crossed over the other, gym bag slung over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in that knowing way that makes me want to hide from him, knowing the questions that are coming my way.
He’s been my best friend since our first day on campus at UCLA.
We were roommates all through undergrad and law school.
After years pretending to enjoy working for his dad’s company, he finally bailed and joined me at Hays or another lonely night in my kitchen pretending frozen pizza is a food group.
“Fine,” I say. “But if she ambushes me with someone, I’m leaving.”
“Deal.” His grin widens. “I’ll at least try to give you a heads-up before the ambush.”
We head to the locker room together, the two of us falling into the familiar rhythm of post-workout chatter.
He talks about Blair’s latest signing, some up-and-coming actor she’s excited about.
The baby, who apparently thinks sleep is for cowards.
The nightmare that is preschool waitlists in Los Angeles.
I half-listen, throwing in a comment or a laugh when it feels right, but beneath the surface my brain is already drifting toward the day ahead.
“You good to grab coffee on the way in?” Wyatt asks as we step out into the parking lot, the sun way too bright for this early in the day.
“Raincheck? I don’t have to be in until ten this morning, so I was going to run home for a bit.”
He nods, shifting his gym bag higher on his shoulder as he walks toward his car. It’s a practical sedan with the baby seat strapped in the back. I can only imagine the abundance of soft toys scattered across the floorboards. “Sounds good. See you at the office,” he says.
I unlock my BMW and slide into the driver’s seat, the interior already warm from the sun. I crank the AC, rest my head against the headrest for a second, and then pull out, letting muscle memory do the work as I wind my way through streets I know by heart.
My house sits in the hills, glass and mid-century lines and the kind of view my younger self thought existed only on TV. I pull into the driveway, kill the engine, and sit there for a moment in the quiet.
The house waits empty, like always. No shoes kicked off by the door. No jacket thrown across the back of a chair. No voice calling my name from down the hall.
Most days, I’m okay with the silence and the lack of drama. The knowledge that everything inside these walls is mine and no one is rifling through it for things to sell. Some days, though, the quiet gets loud.
I climb out of the car and head inside, dropping my keys in the bowl by the door. I jog upstairs to my bedroom, stripping my sweaty clothes off on the way to the bathroom and leaving a trail I’ll pick up later.
The shower comes on with a hiss. I step under the hot spray and let it pound into my shoulders, steam fogging up the glass. It takes all of thirty seconds for my brain to betray me.
It’s three months ago and Natalie’s soft skin is under me, her head tipped back, that little gasp she made when I slowed down instead of rushing like she wanted. Her dark hair spread over my pillow.
I’ve stopped pretending I feel bad when I grip my cock. I have replayed that night more times than I should probably admit. Like some kind of masochist torturing myself with things I can’t have.
The first time I saw her was at Sophia and Grant’s wedding.
Sophia is Wyatt’s sister and an Oscar-winning actress who married Grant Hall, the head of Wonderland Studios.
Their wedding was this glamorous circus of producers and actors and family that somehow came together for one of the most memorable evenings. Especially when I spotted Natalie.
She walked past me on the terrace, laughing at something her friend said, and the sound went straight through me like an electrical shock.
Dark hair, sharp eyes, and a black dress that looked like it had been designed precisely for her.
I tried to come up with something clever to say.
She smiled. And then she was gone, swallowed by the crowd.
I scrub my hands over my face and force my brain back into the present.
I finish rinsing off, turn off the water, and step out into the fogged-up bathroom.
I wrap a towel low around my hips, and wipe a circle in the mirror.
My reflection show faint shadows under my eyes and a look of longing. Or maybe desperation.
“Get it together, man,” I mutter.
I dress on autopilot. Light blue shirt, the one that somehow makes me look more awake than I am. Charcoal jacket with matching slacks that pulls the whole thing into lawyer territory without feeling suffocating. I slip on my watch and the whole routine settles my nerves, the way it always does.
In the kitchen, I grab my travel mug, pour in some coffee, and the smell fills the space instantly. My phone lights up on the counter and I slip into work mode at the sight of my boss’s name.
Ryan
Can you join me for a new client meeting at 10am. Our offices.
I relax. Just routine work.
Jake
No problem. Need me to prepare anything?
The bubble with his reply pops up almost immediately.
Ryan
She’s a first-time writer-producer. Just sold a show to FlixPix. Contracts done, just want fresh eyes and ears at the signing.
Jake
I’ll be there.
The drive to Hays & Cole isn’t bad today. Traffic is actually moving which is a rarity for LA. By the time I pull into the garage under the downtown high-rise, the city is fully awake.
I step on to the elevator the ride smooth all the way up. The doors open onto the fifteenth floor, and that familiar burst of cool air and quiet power rolls over me.
The firm’s offices are sleek in a way that feels intentional. Floor-to-ceiling windows, dark wood against brushed metal, soft lighting that makes everyone look more put together than they probably feel, and the faint smell of coffee, paper, and money.
I swing by my office to drop my laptop off and grab a legal pad and pen. I step back out into the hallway, and head to the meeting with a stranger whose life is about to change.
I have no idea mine is about to shift too.