Chapter 13
thirteen
Kate
We’re two weeks into the new routine, and Josh has made some serious progress. He’s eating whatever I cook without complaint, hasn’t asked me to repeat his schedule in days, and just yesterday, when he texted me about an interview, I may have teared up in the produce section at Whole Foods.
I scoop another portion of brown rice into a container, label it “Tuesday—Lunch” like the neurotic control freak I am, and try not to read too much into the fact that I like this.
Not just the meal prepping and working out—though there is something deeply satisfying about throwing heavy weights around—but the fact that he trusts me with his secret.
With a part of himself he doesn’t show to everyone.
And okay, fine, I also like how he smiles when I show up with food like it’s Christmas morning and I’m Santa Claus with macros. That smile just…does something to me.
But we’re not thinking about that.
Or the almost-kiss that still replays in my head at night like some cruel, slow motion movie trailer.
Nope. Not happening. Because I refuse—refuse—to become the walking cliché: the assistant who caught feelings for her rockstar boss.
This isn’t a romantic comedy.
It’s real life.
And in real life, the girl who falls for her boss usually ends up unemployed.
“God, it smells amazing in here,” Dani says, stepping up into the RV. “Is that dinner?”
“Meal prepping for Josh,” I say, turning the burner off and scooping the salmon filets out of the pan and placing them into the containers on top of the rice and vegetables.
“Why is he making you meal prep?”
“He’s not.”
“Then why are you?”
I chew on my lip, weighing whether to tell her about Josh’s diagnosis.
He never said I couldn’t, but that doesn’t mean it’s mine to share.
It feels personal, like a piece of himself he handed to me in confidence, and even if he didn’t put rules around it, I can’t shake the feeling that saying it out loud to someone else would be crossing a line.
So, I decide to go with a half-truth.
“We’re trying out a new diet and exercise routine.”
“We?” she asks, arching a brow.
I nod and ramble off the same statistics I gave Josh the first morning we ran together as I snap the containers closed and stack them neatly into the bag with the others.
“Do you work out with him every day?”
“Every day we can fit it in, yeah. The running sucks but I actually like lifting weights. There’s something about lifting heavy things that makes me feel like a badass.”
She eyes me suspiciously.
“What?” I ask.
“Just trying to figure out why this is the second time in two weeks that you’ve kept something from me, and why both of those things involve Josh Calloway.”
I shrug as nonchalantly as possible.
“We’re just hitting up hotel gyms when we have the time. It’s not like I’m sneaking around with him in the middle of the night.”
“Maybe you should,” she says.
“Maybe I should what?”
“Sneak around in the middle of the night. Cross the line. Get some,” she says, playfully smacking my ass as she walks past.
I laugh.
“I’m serious,” she says, crossing her arms over her ample chest. “He’s hot. You’re hot. You obviously have chemistry. He’s not looking for anything serious, and you seriously need to get over Anthony. It’s a win-win. Best way to get over someone old is to get under someone new.”
“Oh my god,” I say, laughing. “You’re out of your mind.”
“Think about it,” she says, opening the fridge.
Past Kate would think about it. Past Kate would whip up a list titled “Pros and Cons of Sleeping with My Boss” and immediately abandon the idea under the weight of logical consequences and potential, albeit non-existent, HR violations.
Past Kate liked order, carefully laid plans, and lists.
And what had that gotten her? Four years wasted in a relationship that had no future. A man who lied through perfect teeth and made her feel like a burden for having feelings and a personality.
Present Kate doesn’t have a list. She has hormones, a questionable moral compass, and a delicious, six-foot-two, wavy-haired distraction.
Josh is not the safe, logical choice. He’s chaos and impulse and temptation covered in body paint, and I have never wanted to give into temptation as badly as I have in the last few weeks.
It started the first night I crashed on his RV. The way he ordered me out of that bunk and took control when I refused gave me a glimpse into what he might be like behind closed doors.
Then, he almost kissed me the morning after the event.
At the time, I told myself it didn’t mean anything, that it was just an emotional hangover from a night that felt like it was straight out of a fairytale.
We were dressed up and dancing under soft lights with just enough champagne to blur the lines.
It was easy to write it off as a moment—fleeting and harmless—but it’s been two weeks, and I’m still wondering what that kiss would have felt like and what it would be like to be with him.
To be overpowered by him again. This time, with less clothing.
“Want to go out for an early dinner before sound check? I don’t feel like cooking, and something is telling me you’re over it by now,” Dani says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Yeah, give me a few minutes. I’m going to run these over to Josh.”
“I’ll order an Uber,” she says, pulling her phone out of her pocket.
I knock twice, but there’s no answer, so I open the door and climb inside.
Josh is on the floor with his headphones on, shirtless, doing slow, measured sit-ups.
Sweat glistens on his skin and his abs flex with each controlled rise.
He doesn’t look up right away, but when he does, he catches me staring and I want to die.
“Hey,” he says, breathless.
“Hey,” I say, also breathless, but for very different reasons. “I brought you some meals for the next few days.” I set the bag down on the floor, open the fridge, and begin tucking everything away.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, lowering his headphones to rest around his neck and rising from the floor to lean against the counter beside me.
“I know.” I shrug. “I wanted to.”
“Well, thank you, Kate.”
I try not to react to what hearing my name on his lips does to me. It’s stupid, really. It’s just a name. My name. A name I’ve heard thousands of times but somehow, never like this.
When I close the fridge door, he’s standing closer than I realized and our arms brush as I stand. It’s barely a touch, but it’s enough to send a jolt of electricity up my spine.
For a second, I let myself wonder what would happen if I took Dani’s advice. If I didn’t step back. If I leaned in instead of away.
Josh watches me, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. My heart pounds and my hands itch to do something reckless like grab him by the back of the neck and bring his mouth to mine.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket, breaking the tension, and I pull it out to see a message from Dani.
“My ride’s here,” I say, unable to look up from my screen. “Dani and I are going out before the show.”
“Alright, I’ll see you at sound check then,” he says, pushing off the counter. I turn to head for the door, but stop when he says, “Hey, you up for watching a movie tonight after we pull out of here?”
“Of course,” I say. “I think it’s your turn to pick.”
“I’ll spend the next few hours researching for such an important decision,” he says in a teasing tone.
“I expect a multi-column, color-coded spreadsheet.”
He flashes me a grin. That lazy, dangerous one that suddenly makes it a little harder to breathe.
“You’ll get a handwritten list at best.”