Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Alycia
My phone lights up, and his contact name glares at me: Elevator Boyfriend, because apparently, I make terrible life choices now.
I catch myself grinning before I can stop it.
It’s not the grin I give the rookies when they screw up a media question.
This one feels dangerous. It makes me look like I have a secret. One I shouldn’t be enjoying this much.
Never gonna happen.
His last text sits on my screen, and the words buzz under my skin like they’ve got their own pulse.
I should delete the thread or at least stop reading it like it’s poetry.
Instead, I drop my phone face down on the desk and let out a groan that sounds a lot like someone losing an argument with herself.
“It’s fine,” I mutter. “You aren’t flirting with a stranger who kissed your hand in an elevator. That’s absurd. This is just… exhaustion and poor boundaries.”
This is what happens when you let your guard down for five seconds in an elevator. One reckless, hand-kissing, rule-breaking stranger, and now I’m texting him as if my brain was left on another floor.
Focus, Torres. You’re not a teenager.
I straighten in my chair and start typing notes into the roster sheet, eyes flicking between headshots and bullet points. Photo credits, sponsorship mentions, and interview schedules. Little details I can control. My coffee’s gone cold by the time a knock sounds at my door.
“If it’s another rookie asking for new headshots, I swear—”
“Relax, Torres. It’s not a rookie.”
I blink at the voice—smooth and unmistakable from a hundred press clips.
“Come in,” I call, even though they already have.
Beau Hendrix steps through the doorway, tall and steady, and right behind him, his brother, Cole, leans against the frame, grin sharp enough to be illegal.
Shit. This can’t be good for me at all.
Cole pushes off the frame and drops into the chair opposite my desk. “You look suspiciously focused. Should I be worried?”
I keep my gaze on my monitor, mostly because looking directly at him feels like inviting chaos. “You should always be worried, especially when you sneak up on me while I’m being productive.”
Beau takes the chair beside Cole. “You have a bad habit of picking the wrong moments to bother her.”
Cole twists in his chair to glance back at him. “Et tu, Beau?”
“You two are supposed to be practicing and coaching, or whatever else you do around here, not harassing the PR department.”
“I’m mentoring the rookies. It’s a selfless act.” Cole presses a hand to his chest, mock-offended.
“Selfless isn’t the word I’d use.”
“Then pick a better one.”
“Interfering comes to mind.”
“Let’s just say, some of them are quick learners.” His smirk turns sharp. “Others need a little… extra guidance.”
“Translation: you scared them again,” Beau mutters, shaking his head.
“Fear builds character.”
That quiet, unshakable Hendrix energy fills the room, making everything feel both chaotic and safe at the same time.
It’s unfair, really, how magnetic they are when they’re together.
The PR department practically melts every time they walk through these doors, and if I’m honest, I’m not entirely immune either.
I straighten a stack of folders just to have something to do with my hands. “So, what are you two doing here? Because I know this isn’t a social call.”
Beau’s grin curves in a way that always makes you feel like he’s got a secret he’s not quite ready to share. “We just figured we’d give you a little heads-up.”
“About what?”
Cole kicks one ankle over his knee, relaxed as ever. “Our baby brother.”
“You mean Kyle. Yes, Cooper already told me.”
“Of course, he did.” Cole’s grin widens. “But knowing and being prepared are two different things.”
“We figured we’d save you a little time.” Beau chuckles, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Kyle’s got the skill, the smile, and just enough chaos to keep everyone on their toes.”
“Translation: he’s trouble.”
“Only if you underestimate him,” Beau says, voice calm but warm. “He’s a good kid who is still finding his footing.”
Cole tilts his head, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes. “He’s also the kind who thinks rules are more like… suggestions.”
“Fantastic,” I mutter, closing my laptop. “Exactly what I needed.”
“You’ll be fine,” Beau says with a smile that somehow manages to be both reassuring and vaguely apologetic. “He eventually listens… when it matters.”
Cole pushes off the chair, smirking. “And if he doesn’t, you can always scare him straight. You’ve got that terrifying teacher energy.”
“That’s one way to describe professionalism.”
“Semantics. Just… go easy on him. He’s had to fight harder than most to get here.”
His calm tone and grin fade for a heartbeat, catching me off guard. “Noted.”
“Good talk, Torres.” Cole winks like he’s said too much and heads for the door. “Try not to traumatize our baby brother before the season starts.”
Beau lingers a moment longer, eyes softening. “You’ll like him. He’s got more heart than he lets people see.”
And just like that, they’re gone. I glance at the clock, then back at my notes, trying to focus, but their words keep looping in my head.
Kyle Hendrix: cocky, reckless, youngest of four. And apparently, my next problem.
But it’s Beau’s words that stick like a song I can’t skip. Great, because what I really need right now is another charming man with too much heart and not enough sense.
By the time I lock up my office, Beau’s words are still looping in my head. I push through the glass doors, and the late-afternoon air hits my face, cool and heavy with the smell of rain and asphalt. The outside world feels louder for a second, the hum of the city pressing in from all sides.
I make it to my car in a few minutes and sink into the driver’s seat.
My reflection in the rearview mirror is not reassuring.
My hair has escaped its bun, my lipstick is half-faded, and I look like a woman who has completely lost control of her day.
I last three seconds before I grab my phone and fire off a text to my group chat with my two best friends, Tiff and Maria.
I need a full-scale emergency intervention session.
Within seconds, the screen flashes: Incoming FaceTime—The Chaos Coven.
I put my phone in the holder before hitting accept. Maria’s face appears first, framed by rollers, her wineglass already half-empty. “I was just about to binge a new true crime documentary, so this better be some good drama.”
Tiff joins a second later, her medical scrubs wrinkled, microbraids yanked into a bun that means she’s halfway through a double shift. “If this is another rant about rookies, I’m hanging up.”
“It’s worse,” I say, my heart already thumping like it knows this story’s about to ruin me.
Tiff groans as she rolls her eyes. “You didn’t send another email to the wrong thread, did you?”
“Worse.”
“Oh, this is going to be good.” Maria’s grin spreads as she takes a long sip of wine.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing the words to come out in some sort of logical order. “Okay. So, you know how my mom’s been on her whole ‘When are you going to find a nice man?’ crusade?”
“Every conversation for the last six months?” Tiff responds, motioning for me to pick up the pace of the conversation.
“This morning, she called while I was in the elevator, and there was this guy next to me—tall, unfairly attractive, obviously allergic to silence—and she asked if I was seeing anyone.”
“And?” Maria leans forward, eyes gleaming.
“And I panicked and said yes.”
Both women freeze.
“You told your mother you have a boyfriend?” Tiff asks carefully.
“Yup.”
“Oh my God. Did he hear you?” Maria gasps like she’s just discovered a plot twist in her own soap opera.
“He did.”
Tiff’s groan could shake the earth. “Alycia.”
“And then,” I continue, heat crawling up my neck, “because apparently I have zero survival instincts, I bribed him to be my fake boyfriend so my mom would get off my back.”
There’s a full beat of horrified silence before the inevitable explosion.
Maria nearly chokes on her wine. “You bribed a man to pretend to date you?”
“Fifty bucks felt fair.”
“Fifty?” Tiff sputters. “Girl, that’s gas money, not emotional labor. Does he even know your last name?”
“I don’t think so, but that’s not even the end of it.” I squeeze my eyes shut, words tumbling faster now. “He went along with it, and my mom invited him to dinner tonight so she can get to know him better.”
“I know you said he was hot, but how hot are we talking? On a scale of one to ten.” Maria’s shriek hits a pitch only dogs should hear.
“Maria,” Tiff warns, but even she’s leaning forward now. “Why does it even matter?”
“He’s… fine.”
“I need this information to determine how screwed she is.” Maria arches an eyebrow.
My mouth opens, then shuts again. “He’s so hot that my brain short-circuited for a full three seconds, and I forgot my own name.” “Oh, no.” Tiff bites back a laugh, shaking her head slowly. “We’re talking… tall and ruin-your-credit-score hot?”
I cover my face with one hand, laughing despite myself.
Maria is laughing so hard she’s crying. “You’re my hero. You’re out here living in a Hallmark movie directed by Quentin Tarantino.”
“It’s not funny,” I say, though my voice is already shaking with laughter. “She wants him at dinner tonight at seven. I’m meeting him in thirty minutes at a coffee shop to go over fake backstory details so my mother doesn’t see through the act.”
Tiff sighs, slipping effortlessly into the voice of reason. “Okay. You’re going to need a story: where you met, how long you’ve been dating, and at least three believable things he ‘likes’ about you.”
Maria points at the screen. “And an exit plan because if he’s hot, you’re going to forget to fake it.”
“Not happening.”
“Alycia, you bribed a stranger to fake date you. You’re already halfway in love.”
I groan and drop my head back against the seat. “This is exactly why I don’t tell you things.”