Chapter 2
two
. . .
Lucas
She has to be the most infuriating woman I’ve ever met.
I watch as Jess crosses the casino floor, the long waves of her hair catching the light like she’s in some damn shampoo commercial.
But she’s not the girl in cutoff shorts anymore.
Now she’s all sharp angles and sleek confidence in tailored black pants that hug her in all the right places, a sculpted black crop top under a structured blazer, and stilettos that make her legs look even longer than I remember.
She moves with the kind of purpose that turns heads, every step a reminder that she knows exactly who she is and that she isn’t afraid to make sure the room knows it, too.
That cool little smirk of hers? Still infuriating. Still captivating.
When she notices me watching, I hold her gaze deliberately, refusing to look away first. It’s a bad habit I’ve never bothered to break. It’s addicting, making sure she knows I see her.
Mission accomplished. She rolls those ocean-blue eyes and continues toward the bar. I smirk to myself before refocusing on the conversation beside me.
“I’m excited about the sports summit panel tomorrow.
Rights for athletes are insane these days.
Can you imagine being in college now and pulling in millions from sponsorship deals?
” Dave Michaels, a mid-level exec from a rival studio, leans in with the excitement of someone who’s never actually played a sport.
“Lucas, you played college ball, right?” asks Trent Alvarez, some tech guy who’s been hovering around our conversation circle for the past twenty minutes.
“Yeah, baseball at USC.” I take a sip of my whiskey.
“What do you think about all this? Feel cheated?” Trent persists, clearly hoping for some juicy sound bite he can repeat later.
“I come from a time where you played for the love of the game,” I say, rubbing my thumb absently along the scar on my knuckle from a sliding catch gone wrong sophomore year. “But I understand the frustration of watching everyone but you profit from your likeness.”
“Hello, gentlemen. Mind if I steal Lucas for a minute?” Grant’s voice comes from behind me. When I turn, he nods toward the far side of the room, indicating that I should follow.
Grant Hall, my boss for the last five years and the closest thing this town has to a box office oracle.
As the head of Wonderland Studios, he’s built a reputation on picking winners, dodging flops, and staying five steps ahead of every media storm, which is where I come in.
He produces the magic. I keep the mess out of the headlines.
I trust Grant more than anyone in this business. He’s sharp and unshakable, and he plays the long game better than anyone I’ve ever seen. If he’s pulling me aside mid-mixer, something’s up.
I excuse myself and fall into step beside him. “What’s up?”
“Our lead actor in Pink Slip just crashed his car into a tree.”
My stomach drops. “Is he ok?”
“He’s fine, but our legal team, his agent, and his publicist are currently making a deal with the LAPD so they won’t arrest him for driving under the influence.”
“Fuck.” I run a hand through my hair, already mentally drafting press statements.
“I need you to get ahead of this. They should be calling you shortly, but I’m sure it’s just a matter of minutes before the press catches a whiff.”
“I’m on it.” My mind races through potential angles. Levi Peterson is our biggest star right now, and Pink Slip just wrapped shooting its third season. We can’t afford this kind of scandal right before the premiere.
Grant and I catch up on a few other things as we walk to the elevators.
He’s heading back to his hotel, where Sophia has joined him for the weekend.
They’re using this quick trip as an engagement celebration.
I still can’t believe that he actually got down on one knee on the Oscars red carpet to propose to her just last month.
After all the drama they went through in getting together last year, I’m happy it all worked out for them.
“Where you headed?” The voice behind me is like nails on a chalkboard. While familiar, it’s incredibly irritating and impossible to ignore.
I turn to find Jess following me, her expression a mix of curiosity and determination. It’s annoying how good she always looks. Only she could pull off a bare stomach under a blazer and still look professional.
“Why are you so interested in where I’m going, Jess? Are you stalking me?” I raise an eyebrow.
“You wish.” She matches my expression perfectly.
A low chuckle escapes, but not because I think she’s funny. I know she smells blood in the water. This woman knows everything about everyone in town. It’s a sickness. As annoying as it is, it’s also pretty damn impressive.
“I don’t have any information to share with you yet. I haven’t even heard the story myself.”
“Great. I’ll join you for the call.” She steps closer to the elevator, making it clear she’s not going anywhere.
I turn toward her and slide my hands in my pockets, sizing her up. “If you want to come up to my room, you just have to ask, Jessica.”
“Jess,” she corrects, her eyes narrowing. “And puh-lease. If I wanted a disappointing two minutes of bouncing up and down, followed by nausea and regret, I’d ride the Screaming Eagle at Six Flags, Luke.”
“Lucas,” I counter automatically, my lips twitching. “And that’s…oddly specific.”
The elevator dings.
I want to be surprised when she follows me in, but of course I’m not.
She’s relentless. She has been since the day we met at USC eight years ago.
Back then, she had a notebook and a mission.
Now she has an audience and a platform, but the effect is the same.
She’s always chasing the story. And somehow, it’s usually mine.
I step in first and pull out my phone, already scrolling through the email from legal, trying to figure out what kind of storm I’m about to walk into.
Jess steps in right behind me, moving uncomfortably close—like, on-purpose close. I catch her leaning just slightly, trying to peek at my screen like she’s trying to sneak a look at the answers during a final.
“Seriously?” I say, tilting my phone toward my chest. “Ever heard of boundaries?”
She shrugs, unbothered. “Ever heard of transparency?”
I slide my phone back into my pocket and glance down at her. She’s grinning and completely unrepentant, looking way too pleased with herself.
The elevator doors close, sealing us into a mirrored box of tension and too little air.
Her scent trails behind her: a hint of honeysuckle with a touch of ocean.
Floral and sun. She’s standing so close that I can feel the heat radiating off her skin, the brush of her arm every time the elevator shifts.
I’m one second away from leaning toward her, just to confirm if it’s her perfume or her hair that smells so good.
Then I catch our reflection in the elevator’s chrome interior and see her with that smug little smirk, while I look like I’m five seconds away from doing something stupid. I take a tiny step to the right, just enough to clear my head.
She watches the movement with a glint in her eye, like she knows exactly what I’m doing. And maybe she does. That’s the thing about Jess Lexington: she’s always two steps ahead, which is exactly what makes her so damn dangerous.
And so hard to ignore.
“So, what happened? It was Levi’s car that crashed, right?” she asks as the elevator begins its ascent.
“I’m not sure.” I keep my voice neutral and stare straight ahead at the mirrored doors.
“Was he hurt? Or was he driving? Was anyone with him?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Do you know anything?” Impatience creeps into her voice.
“I know that there’s nothing to share with you right now.”
She rolls her eyes and slumps against the wall, her thumbs flying across her phone like she’s trying to summon national security secrets from thin air. I’m pretty sure she’s already texting three sources, digging for details I haven’t even confirmed yet.
The elevator dings again.
I step forward just as the doors slide open, and suddenly, there’s a thud and a muffled oof behind me.
Jess barrels straight into my back, her face smacking between my shoulder blades as one hand grabs a fistful of my jacket to keep from falling.
We freeze like that for a second—me mid-step and her plastered to my back like the world’s most annoyed backpack.
“Jesus, warn a guy,” I say, turning just enough to glance over my shoulder.
She’s still clinging to me like she might fall through the floor. “You stopped short.”
“I walked. You crashed. There’s a difference.”
She pushes off me like I’m contagious, brushing nonexistent wrinkles from her blazer and avoiding eye contact. “Your back is annoyingly solid.”
“My personal trainer will be thrilled to hear that.”
She glares. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Oh, I don’t have to,” I say with a smirk as I step out of the elevator. “You literally threw yourself at me.”
“Keep dreaming, Carmichael.”
“Already am, Lexington.”
Her huff is audible behind me, but her footsteps follow mine all the same.
“Thanks for walking me to my door. I’ll see you later at the mixer.” I swipe the key card across the lock, and it chimes the all-clear to enter. Just as I step forward, my phone chirps, and Jess practically crashes into me again, peeking over my shoulder before I can angle the screen away.
“Is it an update?” Her breath is warm against my neck.
We both go still when the text pops up.
MADELINE
Hi Lucas! Looking forward to our date tonight. Maybe we can pick up where we left off last time? I’ve missed your…company. See you soon! xoxo – Madeline
“Oh, hot date tonight?” Jess purrs, her voice thick with fake sympathy. “Setting someone else up for disappointment? Should I text her and warn her now or later?”
I grit my teeth as fury bubbles up from somewhere deeper than I want to admit.
When my father called earlier to suggest I meet up with Madeline Bishop, his favorite donor’s daughter, I gave him a non-committal “yeah, maybe.” Apparently, he heard that as a green light, and now I get to look like an asshole backing out of a date I never agreed to in the first place.
Usually, I’d volley back something cutting. But right now, my blood is already boiling. Not at Jess. At him.
At all of it.
My father will explode, of course. Once again, I can play my usual role as the family’s lead disappointment. My brother and sister might have fallen in line with the Carmichael political dynasty, but I had the audacity to choose my own path.
“I’ll catch up with you later, Jess.” I step into my room and close the door, not waiting for her response.
At least watching the door slam in her face brings me a little satisfaction and joy.
I toss my phone onto the bed and walk to the window, where I take in the Vegas skyline. My room offers a perfect view of the Strip, all glittering lights and illusions, kind of like how my job is all about making things look better than they are.
I’ve got fifteen minutes before the conference call about Levi. That’s just enough time to come up with a strategy and tell Madeline the “date” isn’t happening. I take off my jacket and grab my laptop, already drafting potential statements in my head.
Levi Peterson, star of Wonderland’s upcoming Pink Slip, was involved in a minor traffic incident last night…
No. That’s too vague. Everyone will assume the worst.
I take a deep breath and pick up my phone again. I need to deal with Madeline before tackling Levi’s mess. As I type out a polite but firm rejection, my mind wanders back to Jess. She’s probably already working her sources, trying to beat me to the story.
The thought makes me smile despite myself. If nothing else, she keeps me on my toes.
My phone rings—it’s Levi’s agent. Time to get to work.
By the time I hang up, twenty minutes later, I have a plan.
Levi wasn’t drunk—he swerved to avoid hitting a cat that darted into the road.
He’s shaken but fine, and his “previously scheduled” trip to Scotland for his sister’s wedding will give him time to recover.
And possibly dry out at a discreet rehab facility that none of us will ever mention.
I’m just finishing up my press statement when my phone buzzes with a text:
JESS
Any update on Levi? Sources saying he was spotted at Cedars. Call me.
I set my phone face down on the desk without responding. Let her stew a little. By the time I’m ready to release a statement, it’ll be on my terms, not hers.