Chapter 21
Ruby
The moment I finally escape my cubicle, fleeing the Nasty Nine’s ongoing digital harassment, I make it three steps down the hallway before my knees wobble.
I grab the wall with one hand.
“I am okay,” I whisper. I am absolutely not okay.
My heart is still doing that hummingbird thing. My skin is warm. My brain is melting down my spinal cord.
I try to breathe.
Calm. Professional. Unaffected.
Sure.
My body says: lmao no.
I duck into a quiet corner behind the supply closet, my unofficial crying cave, and press my hands over my face.
“He picked me,” I whisper.
The words sound unreal. Like something from one of our Valentine’s “billionaires fall in love in 24 hours” issues.
I should be excited. Honored. Ambitious.
Instead? I feel like someone unplugged my brain and replaced it with glittery panic.
Why me?
Why not one of the golden children in editorial? Why not literally ANYONE else?
I inhale deeply.
Everything feels too big. Too hot. Too dangerous.
I pull out my phone. The Nasty Nine have left ninety-something new messages.
I throw my phone back in my bag like it’s a cursed artifact.
“I need to get a grip,” I mutter.
Except every time I close my eyes, I see the way he looked at me.
Like I was already his.
And THAT is the problem.
My heart flips. My knees go weak again.
Nope.
Nope.
I slap my cheeks. “Get it together.”
When I walk out of the alcove,
He’s there.
Jaxon Cole is standing in the hallway. Like he knew exactly where I’d be.
He stops. I stop. The air stops.
He tilts his head slightly. Studying me. Reading me. Seeing way too much.
My breath stutters.
“Ruby,” he says quietly.
Oh god.
My legs nearly give out again.
I spin on my heel and walk the OTHER WAY so fast I nearly trip over a recycling bin.
I hear him chuckle behind me.
I’m never going to emotionally survive this man.