Chapter 23
CHRIS
The exposed brick walls and vintage brownish decor gave my office a timeless, sophisticated vibe.
Or so I’d been told. It was a mix of old and new, with antique wooden furniture and modern details.
Across the walls, bookshelves crammed with scripts, film memorabilia, and awards I barely looked at.
A big window offered a view of the city, while leather-bound chairs and a sturdy, well-worn desk rounded out the space.
Sure, it was beautiful, but I had zero to do with it.
Chloe had hired some big-name interior designer whose name I couldn’t even pronounce and oversaw the whole transformation.
Honestly, I hadn’t even noticed it looked different from when I first got the apartment.
Everyone else loved it, especially women.
Like my fame wasn’t already enough of a flashing neon sign that screamed, “He’s rich!
” The penthouse drove the point home, like an extra dose of aphrodisiac for the women I brought here.
I knew exactly what that said about me. Always choosing the superficial ones. But I’d learned over the years that superficial was easier. Safer. That’s all I could give, anyway. My mind was always somewhere else, comparing every woman to one who I thought existed only in my head.
Jules.
Even with all the investment, this place never felt special. Not this penthouse, not my house in Los Angeles—hell, not even my hometown itself felt like home anymore. Maybe the problem was that none of my real estate options came with a family to make it a home.
I was searching through a drawer, my fingers brushing over old scripts and documents, when the door swung open, and Vanessa walked in.
“Your mom called. She told me to tell you to pick up the fucking phone,” she said, arms crossed.
“My mom thinks ‘damn’ is a bad word,” I replied without looking up from the paperwork. “I doubt she said to pick up the fucking phone.”
“I thought the emphasis was needed,” she said, casually inspecting her nails.
“Are you really going to ignore your mom? Aren’t you like a certified mama’s boy?
” She wasn’t wrong, and she knew it. I’d been ignoring my mom’s calls for days, which wasn’t like me.
At all. But I knew the second we spoke, I’d start talking about Jules.
And what the hell would I say? That I’d been dreaming about her for years?
That I’d shown up at her house at three a.m. like a drunken idiot?
Would I tell her about the kids? Because if I did, my mom would immediately start knitting Christmas sweaters for them and planning to be their step-grandma.
That’s who she was. And I couldn’t open that door.
Not yet. I needed to keep myself away from any conversations with my mom for now because I couldn’t keep anything from her.
She was the first one I told when I lost my virginity, for crying out loud.
“What are you doing there?” She gestured toward the mess of paperwork I’d spread across the table.
I barely glanced up. “Do you remember that project you got me? The one that never got made? One of the first ones with that director you used to…” I paused, searching for the right words. “sleep with.”
Her face twisted in disgust. “Marvin.” She practically spat the name.
Oh yeah, she remembered.
That relationship was a shit show.
“Yeah, that guy. What happened there? Something with the writer, right?”
“I don’t…”
“Vanessa, please.” I looked up at her long enough for her to understand that it was important and that she should try harder. She got the message.
“I remember she pulled out at the last minute after all the work John Grauber had put into it. He was pissed,” she said, rolling her eyes.
John Grauber. I replayed the name in my mind, and it made my jaw tighten. He was a major jackass. I shook my head as the memory came trickling back.
“Yeah, yeah. That script was great, too. I was super excited about it. Do you remember the title?”
Vanessa raised an eyebrow, looking at me like I’d lost my mind.
“You want me to remember the title of a script from ten years ago?”
“Twelve,” I corrected her. Saying it out loud felt like coming to terms with something I hadn’t fully pieced together yet. “Yes.”
She laughed out loud before she realized I wasn’t joking.
My mind was already moving a mile a minute.
Pieces were falling into place, and none of it felt random anymore.
I could see it all. Fragments of memories that didn’t connect before suddenly snapped together.
Vanessa crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, watching me like I was a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve.
“What is this really about?”
I didn’t answer. My hands were already pulling open drawers, digging through folders, and papers flying in every direction. I knew what I was looking for; I just couldn’t figure out how to explain it.
“I’m supposed to have all the scripts I was sent here,” I muttered, barely acknowledging her. “But I can’t find it anywhere.”
Vanessa sighed, her patience clearly wearing thin as she glanced at the growing mess.
“Those are only the most recent ones. The ones from the last five years or so…”
I froze, my head snapping up to look at her.
“Where are the others?” My voice came out sharper than I intended.
She hesitated, probably debating whether or not I’d finally lost it, then walked over to a cabinet on the far side of the room. She opened the top door, pulled out two large, dust-covered folders, and set them on the table before me.
“I think they’re all there,” she said, watching me closely. Her usual sarcasm was gone, replaced by a growing concern.
I didn’t say anything. My focus was already back on the papers, flipping through them at lightning speed. The first folder yielded nothing. But when I opened the second folder, my hands froze.
There it was.
Snowdrift.
The title stared back at me from the page like a ghost. And beneath it, in small print: Written by Juliette Davis.
For a second, I couldn’t move. My hands rested on the script, but it didn’t even feel real, like the paper itself had stopped existing under my fingertips.
Memories invaded my brain. It was overwhelming.
This was it. This is how we met.
In my dreams.
It hit me like a brick, something buried deep in the back of my mind, something I should have known all along but couldn’t access until now. But dream me had always known it. I would have met her. Here.
A wave of dizziness hit me.
Vanessa cut through the fog. “Are you okay? You look like you’re gonna pass out.”
My hands were clammy and my face was cold.. The room spun, and I had to sit. I couldn’t trust my legs to keep me upright.
“Do I need to call an ambulance? I’m genuinely worried.” Her voice sounded distant.
I shook my head, still lost in my own thoughts.
“We went to the meeting… but she never showed…” I said it, more to myself than to her. I felt dizzy, trying to piece it all together. “I remember.”
Things that never made sense before now clicked into place.
The uncanny details in our daydreams, the way Jules felt so real, so familiar—it wasn’t a coincidence.
We were meant to be together. And because of one meeting, one missed opportunity, and one dickhead producer, I lost her.
A whole life with my person, gone. The dizziness shifted into pure rage, and before I knew it, I was on my feet.
In one angry motion, I swept all the papers off, sending them flying to the floor—except for the script I was still holding, which I then set down on the now empty table.
“FUCK!”
The word echoed through the room, raw and guttural. Vanessa froze. Her eyes widened in a way I’d never seen before. Nothing scared Vanessa. But this? This did.
“Chris,” she managed. I didn’t look at her. I couldn’t. I turned to the window behind the desk, pressing one of my palms against the cool glass. With my other hand, my fingers raked through my hair, tugging at it slightly as I brought my body down a notch.
“I’m okay…” I muttered, though it was a lie. I wasn’t okay. Not even close.
I heard Vanessa’s heels click against the floor as she moved toward the table. Papers crunched under her feet until she stopped.
“Juliette Davis,” she read aloud. “Juliette…” I didn’t turn around, but I heard her say it again, softer this time, testing the name. I knew it sparked something in her memory.
“I need to ask you something,” I said, forcing my voice to sound calmer than it was.
“Okay,” she replied cautiously.
I turned to look at her, my jaw tightening.
“Did you delete any of her messages from my phone?”
Vanessa didn’t even hesitate.
“I blocked her number. She couldn’t get your messages and vice versa.”
Fuck!
Like the universe hadn’t already done enough to keep us apart, now I had confirmation that my meddling manager had stepped in to help.
She didn’t apologize or explain herself.
She didn’t have to. I knew exactly why she did it.
Years ago, when we started working together, I instructed her: ‘Do whatever it takes to make me famous.’ And she’d followed that to the letter.
“I need you to come up with a plan to end the engagement with Anna,” I said firmly.
“That’s a terrible idea,” Vanessa shot back, still standing near the table.
I pinned her with a look so intense I knew she felt it in her chest. I wasn’t just looking at her, I was showing her.
“I love her,” I said as my hand moved to touch the script. I slid it across the table toward her, like the physical evidence of what I meant. Vanessa didn’t need to look down. Her face didn’t flinch, but her eyes softened to show me that she got it. I knew I wasn’t wrong. Deep down, she cared.
She took a deep breath, then agreed. “I’ll need some time. Her team won’t like it at all.”
I nodded slightly, leaning back into the leather chair. “That will be all, Vanessa. Thank you.”
She got the message and left the room without another word, the door clicking shut behind her.
I let out a long breath, staring at the script before me.
Jules.