Chapter Three
Kendall took a deep breath, filling her lungs until she felt light-headed. Her vision blurred just enough to make the parked cars around her seem like they were closing in.
She wanted to run away, yet she forced herself to stay. She wanted to cry, yet she forced a big, beaming smile that felt so out of place that it could’ve belonged to someone else.
“You need to aim higher, Kendall,” her father had said. “Be someone people talk about. Make real money, real connections. Stop wasting time at that fire station.”
With a hard exhale, she tilted her chin up, her eyes tracing the number of floors in Phantom Rise Media’s towering building. It felt like she was swallowing bricks, but she pushed herself forward to the gleaming glass doors.
The moment Kendall stepped inside, that hot LA air was left behind. She headed straight for the elevator, waited for it to ding open, and ascended to the eighteenth floor.
The lobby was sleek, with all polished marble floors and white leather furniture. Glass walls reflected every angle, making the space feel huge. Kendall swore the entire Station Six could fit into that room.
“I’ve got a meeting with Ms. Sloane Pierce,” she said to the receptionist, her voice steadier than she felt, her palms damp.
Her nerves had little to do with the documentary, and everything to do with seeing Sloane again.
The blind date. The woman she had slept with, said goodbye to, and assumed she’d never see again.
Never. Ever.
That was why this meeting her father had arranged was like a bucket of ice water had been thrown over her head.
When he’d mentioned Sloane Pierce would be taking the lead on the project, Kendall had thought it was just a coincidence.
Sloane was a fairly common name. It was ranked in the top one thousand popular names for girls in the United States.
But then she’d done a Google search, and everything had imploded around her.
She’d spent an entire night curled up on the couch, laptop balanced on a cushion, watching every documentary, interview, social media post she could find on Sloane Pierce.
The woman was a force of nature. She was a media powerhouse with a string of award-winning projects under her belt.
She was intelligent, confident, and unapologetically icy in interviews but simultaneously intriguing to watch.
Everything about the woman made Kendall feel like she was stumbling through her life, while the woman seemed to be waltzing graciously through hers.
And now she was about to be in a room with her. Again.
The receptionist, a young man with hair-sleeked back, smiled politely and typed something on his computer. “Ms. Pierce is expecting you. You can head through to the boardroom.” He pointed over her shoulder. “Go straight and take the second door on your left.”
Kendall nodded, managing a tight smile even though her stomach was coiled and clenched, and walked in the direction the receptionist instructed.
She spotted Sloane way before she reached the boardroom—thanks to the plethora of glass walls.
The woman was sitting at the far end of a long steel table, her posture perfect, expression unreadable, as she tapped the closed end of her pen against her chin.
Her eyes were locked on a laptop in front of her.
That same smooth, sharp energy Kendall had felt during most of the restaurant portion of the blind date was still there, as if she could slice through anything… through anyone.
Kendall pushed open the door and winced when Sloane looked up. Those deep blue eyes were like an ocean in the midst of a storm meeting hers.
“Kendall,” Sloane said, her expression cool and indifferent, before she glanced back at the screen.
Just her name, spoken like it was nothing more than a reminder of a meeting she didn’t want to go to in the first place.
It felt awfully familiar. At least she didn’t call her Kylie this time.
“Good morning,” Kendall muttered, her throat exceptionally dry. She quickly made her way to a nearby seat, settled into the leather chair, and reached for the glass water pitcher in the middle of the table.
If Sloane picked up on her nerves, she didn’t show it.
She only kept her eyes on that screen, pen tapping against her chin.
Kendall nearly reached over to yank it from her hand but refrained.
Not because it would be rude, but because she knew such a touch would be electrifying.
After all, she still hadn’t gotten over the memory of the smooth, soft silkiness of Sloane’s skin.
Finally, after what felt like a millennium had passed, Sloane shut her laptop with a sharp click. “We’ll make this quick. I don’t have much time before my next meeting, and I’m sure you have fires to get to.” The last part came out like a joke.
But it wasn’t funny.
Kendall shifted in her seat and pretended not to notice the wayward strand of Sloane’s dark hair as if she’d moments ago tugged at it, quite aggressively.
She also considered apologizing for forcing herself into the documentary when it was clear she had zero experience.
But she had no control over any of this.
Her father had contacted the media company.
He had arranged everything and insisted she join the project as co-director.
Which was absurd, really. Kendall knew nothing at all about directing.
Frankly, she’d spent most of her adult life steering clear of the film industry like it was a particularly contagious virus.
The only reason she had even agreed to this was to get her father off her back.
If Kendall could just show him how hopelessly out of her depth she was, he might finally let her be, allow her to chase her own dreams.
“I’m taking a bit of time off work,” Kendall said. “Just until this documentary is over. I’ve approved it with my chief. He thinks the documentary is a good idea.”
“So, you’re aware of the topic, then?”
Kendall nodded. “First responders, particularly women on the front lines and those impacted by the fires.”
Sloane’s blue eyes scanned Kendall’s face like she was trying to read something, discover something, but the only thing Kendall was giving away was sheer panic.
For some reason, she couldn’t stop thinking about that night.
The memory of Sloane’s fingers inside of her was crashing into her mind like a flood breaking through a dam wall.
It made no sense. The woman was awful, rude, yet completely enthralling.
If Kendall wasn’t careful, if she didn’t patch up that wall, she was afraid her body might give her away.
Her skin was already covered in a layer of goosebumps.
“Yes,” Sloane said, bringing her hands up on the table, fingers interlacing. “Women like you. But also, the ones who never get seen. It is also about those women who have lost their homes and have had their worlds turned upside down. The real story.”
“I just want to make sure this documentary isn’t some sensationalized thing,” Kendall said, surprised at herself for even bringing it up. “I don’t want this to be an overdramatic portrayal that makes for good TV. I don’t want this documentary to be a disservice to the real heroes out there.”
When her dad had mentioned the documentary and her mandatory involvement, she’d been annoyed.
Or frustrated more than anything. But when he’d mentioned the topic—something he’d chosen all on his own—she’d become mildly interested.
Not enough to actually want to do this, but enough to keep her from dismissing it outright.
“This documentary won’t be about making heroes out of anyone who doesn’t deserve it,” Sloane said, her eyes locked so tightly on Kendall’s that her heart was doing a traitorous flip in her chest. “It’s about telling the truth.”
“If you can promise—”
The door swung open, and Lisa, with her fiery red hair, walked in. Kendall had met her once, a few days ago, at her father’s house in Beverly Hills as they discussed the documentary. “Sorry to interrupt the two of you.”
“We’re almost done,” Sloane smiled, tight-lipped. “What do you need?”
“A wildfire’s broken out near Idyllwild. It’s spreading fast.”
Sloane remained calm, her demeanor as cool as ever, yet there was something beneath that smile that was off. There was something troubling, like a storm cloud hovering a short distance away. “And I’m assuming you want us to go? Now?”
Tension. Yep. That was it. There was palpable tension between the two. Thick and suffocating. Kendall wondered why. But then again, she had a feeling the answer was right in front of her.
“There’s no better time to get started than now, is there, Sloane?” Lisa replied, her tone overly chipper, like she was taunting the woman. Kendall had even glimpsed a slight wince from Sloane.
“I guess not.” Her voice was flat, unamused.
“Good. I look forward to seeing what the two of you come up with.” Lisa winked, then stepped back into the hallway, the clicking sound of her heels faltering when she was out of sight.
Sloane stood up, smoothed her palms over her skirt, and grabbed her laptop, holding the lightweight thing between three fingers. “Well, I guess we start now. Do you know anything about filming?”
Kendall shook her head.
“Didn’t think so,” she sighed. “Usually, I work with Mitch. He’s a fantastic camera operator.
I highly recommend him, but he’s on vacation—just like I was supposed to be.
” Sloane paused, annoyance flickering across her face like a lightning storm.
Of course, that made a lot more sense. Lisa must’ve pulled her vacation time for this documentary.
“For this project, we can do some hands-on shooting,” she went on, this time with her poker face back in place.
“I typically use a Canon C300 for the interviews and add in a DJI Robin for stabilization during action shots.” Sloane must’ve noticed Kendall’s apparent blankness, because she sighed and said, “I’ll teach you the basics as we go.
For now, we need to find out where the fires are, and the best access points, and gather as much information as we can before we head out.
If you want to be useful, call the nearest fire station. ”
“I can do that,” Kendall said, her voice sounding so enthusiastic that she cringed internally. “I can find out how many crews are deployed, the direction of flames, and if there are any evacuation orders in place.”
Sloane nodded with her lips pressed flat. “Good. Meet me at Silverlake Coffee Shop in an hour. Don’t be late.” With that, Sloane turned on the spot and walked away, leaving Kendall all by herself, feeling in way over her head.
Never in her wildest dreams had Kendall expected the project to start that fast. She had expected days of conversations, of planning, of back-and-forth logistics.
But no, it was happening right now. There was a wildfire in Idyllwild, and she wasn’t the one suiting up, running toward the flames. Saving lives. Nope. She’d be behind a camera, watching it all from a safe distance.
“Pull it together,” Kendall muttered under her breath.
She felt split in two. Half of her wanted to run from this documentary, to go back to her job, where things made sense.
And the other half was determined to see it through.
Not because she was eager, she most certainly wasn’t.
But she wanted to prove her dad wrong. And maybe even to show Sloane…
well, she wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted to show Sloane. Not yet anyway.
Kendall walked back to the lobby and pressed her thumb against the down arrow of the elevator.
The doors slid open, and she stepped inside at the same time Sloane’s cool, icy voice pulled her back like a lasso.
Kendall hesitated, ready to turn and head back out of the elevator, when Sloane’s hand closed around her elbow.
The doors closed. The digital numbers began counting down.
“If we’re going to be working together on this, we need to forget about what happened on that date,” Sloane said softly beside her. She was facing the doors, eyes trained on the glossy metal surface that showed their distorted reflections.
Of course, it would come up.
Kendall was prepared for this.
“Done,” Kendall said. She had to bite back a smile when surprise shot across Sloane’s face like a shooting star. For the first time that morning—and possibly since the night when the woman had led the way the entirety of the time—Kendall had the upper hand.
It felt good. Empowering. Nearly as empowering as when she zipped up that fire suit.
The elevator doors dinged open. Kendall then did something that surprised her for the second time today. She walked out, turned back to glance over her shoulder, and said, with quite a bit of sassiness, “Lisa’s got my address. Pick me up on your way out of the city.”