Chapter 12
TIANA
My alarm goes off at what can only be described as the ass crack of dawn.
I groan into my pillow, then force myself to roll onto my back. If I don’t film my Sunday reset now, it’s not happening. Griffin and Sylas have me on deck all day.
I drag myself out of bed, brush my teeth and wash my face, tie my hair into a messy bun, and slip into a matching ribbed shorts and cropped tee. I turn the ring light on, set the tripod, and hit record.
By the time I’ve finished, the sun is barely awake.
I plop onto my desk chair, scrub my hands over my face, and reach for my phone. A text banner flashes across the top.
Renee Manager Extraordinaire
Athleisure pics are in. Check your inbox
I quickly open my email and click into the gallery link, looking over thumbnails of me at the Pilates studio as I laugh mid-movement, pose against mirrored walls, or stretch on the reformer.
I swipe through, heart doing a small stupid flutter when I see a few that actually look like the version of myself I like: strong and focused.
“Okay, we ate,” I mumble, marking my favorites with a star. One for the grid, a couple for stories, the rest to send to the brand for their page.
My phone starts buzzing again, this time with an incoming video call from Mya. Her sleepy face fills the screen, and she’s in an oversized T-shirt, her curls in a loose pineapple, mug in hand.
“Good morning, superstar,” she croaks.
I laugh and angle my phone so she can see my vanity. “Morning. You’re just in time to witness the miracle of making myself look alive.”
I start dabbing concealer under my eyes, blending with my ring finger.
She squints. “You’ve been up for a while, haven’t you?”
“Sunday reset reel. The internet must be fed.”
“Ah, yes. Your internet children,” she teases. “So. Tell me. How did it go yesterday at Griffin’s?”
I lean closer to the mirror, brushing my brows up with clear gel. “Honestly? Better than I thought.”
Mya’s brows shoot up. “Oh, yeah?”
“He’s… grumpy,” I admit, and I feel my lips curling at the side.
“Like… professional-level grumpy. But Sylas is an angel. He’s really sweet.
” I cap my brow gel and reach for cream blush.
“Griffin is intense, but he seems to be a good dad. The house is abnormally organized, though everything about Sy’s life feels safe. ”
Her expression softens. “Told you.”
I dab color onto my cheeks, watching my reflection warm up. “Doesn’t change the fact that your boss is a grouch. I’m going to have a great time toying with him.”
“Please do,” Mya says, grinning. “Just don’t break him. We still need him to sign off on our projects.”
“Relax, I’ll only emotionally torment him a little.” I swipe on tinted lip balm. “He deserves it for that ‘no thanks’ handshake stunt.”
Mya cackles. “He’s probably still kicking himself over that.”
“He should be,” I mutter, though there’s no real heat behind it. Not when I can still feel the ghost of his hand around mine. I shake the thought away and reach for my mascara.
“What are you up to today?”
Mya sighs. “My own Sunday reset. But mine won’t be as cute. More like: laundry, second coffee, catching up on readings, and pretending my life is together.”
“That’s very relatable content.”
“I’ll leave the aesthetic stuff to you, influencer.”
I scrunch my nose at the term but smile anyway. As I swipe color through my lashes, Mya watches me in that way she does sometimes—half big sister, half best friend.
She sets her mug down. “Did you, uh, tell Mom and Dad about you maybe moving out?”
My hand pauses mid-air.
I blink carefully, so I don’t ruin my lashes. “Not yet.”
“TJ…”
“Not until I know if I have the job for sure,” I say quickly. “No point in stressing them out if Griffin decides he can’t handle my sparkling personality.”
She huffs a laugh. “He’d be insane not to hire you.”
“I agree,” I say primly, then let out a sigh.
Mya smiles at me. “You look good, sis.”
“I woke up like this,” I joke, even though I absolutely did not.
“Griff won’t know what to do with himself.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not for him.”
“Sure it’s not.”
“Focus on your own life, miss ‘I’m definitely not crushing on my billionaire boss,’” I shoot back.
Mya’s cheeks flush. “I hate you. I have to go.”
“Love you too,” I sing-song.
“Text me later. I want updates, especially if Griffin does anything stupid.”
“Oh, I’ll keep you posted.”
We hang up and I glance at the time. If I leave in a few minutes, I’ll be early, and Griffin seems like the type to appreciate punctuality. And if he doesn’t, well, I’ll enjoy unsettling him.
I stand, blow out the candle, and grab my bag. As I slip my shoes on by the door, the weight of everything hits me for a second —Willow’s, this possible job, the guest room in that big, cozy house, and its grumpy owner.
“Please let this be worth it,” I murmur to myself.
Then I straighten, square my shoulders, and head out.
Another day to make Griffin Hayes and his son fall a little bit more in love with me.