Chapter 7
SEVEN
The meeting is at nine.
I was seventeen minutes late getting out of the car.
I’m exhausted—so much so I can barely remember the drive from Encino. Only that traffic sucked. But stopping and going, narrowly avoiding collisions… that’s second nature now. I’ve lived in the county for more than ten years. I’m a pro at navigating arguably some the worst traffic in the world.
Before leaving, I chugged three cappuccinos because I need to be on my game. I have questions. Concerns. And Anne needs to answer them, put my mind at ease.
Is what they did even legal?
I signed the contract without reading it thoroughly. Anne rushed me, and I was desperate. She promised the terms were standard: I’d be paid handsomely, no nudity, no sex, and I could terminate my participation if I ever felt unsafe.
So technically… this is on me.
They used what was obviously very good AI to depict me falling blissfully in love with a man I revile. And I might’ve signed off on it.
Still, I’ve been thinking. I have a few tricks up my sleeve.
I’m running through the options in my head when the parking garage elevator doors open.
And there he is.
I jump slightly, surprised to be staring into the eyes of the last person I want to see right now.
The world stands still as we stand here, staring. I don’t know what to do next. I don’t want to get trapped in an elevator with him. But... God, he looks good.
Black athletic pants. Matching jacket. He’s clean. Fresh. Not a trace of worry or exhaustion on his face. Meanwhile, I look—and feel—like I’ve been dragged through a cyclone.
“You’re going up,” he says. It’s not a question. It’s an order.
That bossy tone of his is like nails on a chalkboard. I almost tell him I’ll take the next elevator—but I need him soft today. I need him pliable. He has to go along with my plan, and if I put him in combative mode, then he’ll push back.
So I say nothing. I step in and take a position as far from him as possible.
Of course, he doesn’t move.
No, he plants himself dead center, like the elevator’s his personal stage.
Asshole. I really don’t like this guy.
He’s so unaware. So smug.
The longer I stand here, the more his presence bothers me. So, to push him back, I fake a coughing fit. Loud. Uncovered. I don’t know much about athletes, but I’m pretty sure they’re obsessive about their health.
“How’s it been going?” he asks, entirely unbothered.
There’s a smirk. Barely perceptible—but I see it. He knows I’m faking.
I give up the ruse with a sigh. “Did you watch the show?” I ask abruptly.
He looks ahead. “Yeah.”
I wait. But apparently, that’s all he has to say.
“What did you think?” I press.
He shrugs. “That guy really liked you.”
I chuckle despite myself. “That girl really liked you.”
Then I tilt my head. “But... come on.”
His brown eyes cut to me—sharp. Like he has no idea what I’m talking about.
“I don’t like you, Jaxon. And you don’t like me. So what the hell are they doing?”
He sighs like he’s deflating—letting every ounce of air drain from that tall, lean, perfectly sculpted body.
The elevator dings.
“It’s just a show, Zara,” he says, stepping aside to let me exit first.
I take the hint and step out. “Yeah, but it’s a fake show. Aren’t you...”
I search for the word, too tired to come up with the perfect one.
“Offended,” Jaxon supplies, walking beside me.
“Yes,” I say, relieved he gets it. “Offended.”
At the receptionist desk, a very pretty, very thin, very young woman shoots to her feet like she’s just been told to stand for royalty. I’ve seen this type a dozen times since signing with the agency. Turnover’s high. Faces blur.
“They’re here,” she chirps into the phone. I presume she’s talking to Anne.
“I mean, are we just going to let them get away with this?” I whisper to Jaxon, now that I’ve got him on the ropes.
The door to the agents’ offices opens immediately. Another young woman—nearly a carbon copy of the receptionist—appears and gestures to us.
“Follow me.” She’s curt, like she’s projecting Anne’s irritation that we’re late.
Jaxon steps off ahead of me, keeping pace with our escort. He walks tall, steady, like he has zero intention of stopping to hash anything out with me.
I sigh, nerves buzzing under my skin. I wish I could get a better read on him.
Still, according to the report Anne sent a few weeks ago, my reputation is back on track, my dignity somewhat restored, and all that’s left is to put this absurd show behind me for good.
Jaxon and I will part ways. He’ll go off with one of the girls from the cast. I’ll film Next In Line, reclaim my career, and move the hell on.
Happy endings all around.
And honestly? I really do think Jaxon will be on board with my proposal.
So I quicken my pace to catch up with them, fairly assured that today will be the last day I ever lay eyes on Jaxon Wilde.
And then—finally—my life will be back on track.