Playing for Mars (Love in the Limelight #1)

Chapter 1

Mars

I was staring at myself in the mirror like I expected a different version of me to answer back.

“Leaving the house is healthy,” I told my reflection. “Normal people do it. Balanced people do it. People with hobbies do it.”

The woman staring back at me looked unconvinced.

In the mirror, Atlas, my orange tabby cat, sat on the edge of my bed, watching me with the same neutral expression he gave everything in life.

“This is not about you,” I told him. “You have already won at life.”

He didn't respond.

I took a breath, adjusted my hair, and checked the outfit. Clean jeans. Blazer. Sneakers.

Good.

I grabbed my phone and keys and left before I could talk myself out of it.

My building always smelled faintly like eucalyptus and ambition. Glass, soft lighting, people who looked like they owned plants and drank green juice. I stepped outside and immediately felt the urge to turn around.

My phone rang.

Nia.

“Tell me you made it out of the house,” she said the second I answered.

“I am actively walking out.”

“To where.”

“Coffee.”

She laughed. “You sound like someone describing a dangerous mission."

“It is dangerous. There are people involved.”

“Mars, you live in a penthouse with heated bathroom floors and a couch that costs more than my student loans. At what point do you enjoy the world you built.”

“I enjoy it from inside.”

“That is not enjoying it. That is curating a museum.”

I arrived at the coffee shop next door, ordered my coffee and leaned against the counter.

Nia continued, “I'm trying to take you out this weekend. Real plans. Music. Possibly flirting.”

“I don't flirt.”

“Oh please you're a professional flirt.”

“I'm a professional homebody," I said seriously holding back a giggle.

She smiled through the phone. I could hear it.

“You're thirty one. You can't keep pretending peace and isolation are the same thing.”

I watched people pass by the café windows. Groups of coworkers. Couples. People with errands and schedules and lives that required pants.

“Do you ever get lonely,” she asked.

I thought about my apartment. The quiet. The control. The comfort.

“No,” I said. “I get comfortable.”

There was a pause.

“That is the saddest sentence I have ever heard.”

“Thank you.”

My coffee was ready. I took it and stepped outside.

“Come out with me this weekend,” Nia said. “Just once.”

“I will think about it.”

“That is not a yes.”

“That is the best you are getting.”

She sighed. “Fine. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

We hung up.

My phone buzzed again immediately.

Cal.

I sighed. “If this is about you trying to get me to join TikTok again, for the hundreth time, the answer is still no.”

“Tech guy is out,” he said immediately. “My mic isn't synching to my laptop. I have a guest in two hours.”

I stopped walking.

“Why are you calling me.”

“Because you have a computer science degree and abandoned it to become a mysterious publicist.”

“That was a strategic pivot.”

“That was emotional avoidance.”

“Call literally anyone else.”

“I can't. They are all already here. You are the only one I trust not to break everything.”

“You trust me because I don't ask unnecessary questions.”

“And because you are smarter than everyone I pay.”

I smiled despite myself.

“I'm not prepared to interact with humans.”

“I'll buy you lunch.”

“I can buy my own lunch.”

“I will buy you lunch and not tell anyone outside of work who you are?”

“That ship has sailed.”

“I will Venmo you two hundred dollars.”

I slowed.

“Disrespectful.”

“Five hundred.”

“Give me an hour.”

“Deal.”

This was the part of my life that never made sense to people.

I was a publicist for one of the most popular sports podcast hosts in Houston, and almost no one knew what I looked like. I handled contracts, schedules, crisis control, guest coordination, and brand strategy entirely from my living room.

I didn't go into the office. I didn't sit in studios. I rarely attended events.

I built a very successful career in pajamas.

I loved my job because it let me stay home. Because I could work from my couch with my laptop on my knees and eat entire meals without making eye contact with another human being.

I was a literal homebody. I worked, exercised, ordered food, binged shows, and repeated the cycle until life felt calm again.

So of course, the one day I left the house for coffee was the one day I had to go into the office.

By the time I merged onto the highway, the mood had shifted.

I was cruising downtown in my 2026 BMW i7, windows cracked just enough to let the warm air in, the sun bouncing off glass buildings like Houston was showing off for me.

Some old jazz playlist was playing through the speakers, the kind with slow horns and lazy drums that made everything feel intentional, even traffic.

I tapped the steering wheel in time with the music, genuinely relaxed.

It wasn’t that I hated being outside. I actually loved moments like this. Sunny days. Good music. A nice car. No one talking to me.

I just liked doing things alone.

On my terms. In my own space. My own rhythm.

Most people thought being a homebody meant I was hiding from life, but that wasn’t true. I just enjoyed experiencing it privately. Quietly. Without having to perform or explain or share the moment with anyone else.

And most of the time, the place that felt the most like me just happened to be my apartment.

Today was one of the rare days where outside felt good too.

Houston rose around me in glass and steel, buildings stacked on ambition and branding and names I normally avoided.

I pulled into valet in front of JPMorgan Chase Tower.

The kind of building where people wore tailored suits and spoke in calm, expensive voices. The kind of place where deals were made and names mattered.

I shut off the engine and sat there for a second longer than necessary.

So much for remote.

So much for my couch.

So much for a quiet weekend.

I grabbed my keys, adjusted my blazer, swapped my gym shoes for pumps, added lip gloss, and walked inside. Being a homebody didn’t mean I gave up on looking good, even when I wasn’t trying.

The lobby was quiet. People walking with purpose and earbuds like they were allergic to eye contact.

I scanned my badge at security.

The guard looked at it, then looked at me. “You back already?”

I look at him and rolled my eyes playfully.

He smiled. “You look like you would rather be anywhere else.”

“I would rather be in my living room, eating something warm, and judging reality television.”

“That specific?”

“I am a woman with clear priorities.”

He laughed and waved me through. “Good luck up there.”

“Thanks, Bill.”

I headed for the elevators and almost sighed in relief when I saw one sitting open and completely empty.

An empty elevator in a building like this felt illegal.

I stepped inside and hit the close button like I was defusing a bomb.

“Come on, come on,” I whispered.

The doors started sliding shut.

I let out a soft, very satisfied laugh.

“Sucker,” I mouthed under my breath, a mischievous grin tugging at my lips.

Just then the doors bounced open.

Then walked in an insanely attractive man.

Quietly. Smoothly. Like he hadn’t rushed at all, even though he clearly had.

He stood next to me and suddenly the space felt different.

He was tall. Not just tall, but the kind of tall that changed the temperature in a room.

At least six five, easy, which made my five two feel even more noticeable than usual.

He wore a loose, expensive looking T shirt that hung casually but still clung in all the right places, like it was trying very hard not to show off.

Dark jeans. Broad shoulders. Full beard, neat but natural.

Light brown eyes that caught the elevator lights just enough to look warm.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just stood there.

Then he let out a small laugh. The kind you try to keep to yourself but fail.

I looked up at him. “What’s funny.”

He pressed his lips together like he was debating honesty. Then said, “You trying to close the elevator on me.”

I paused. “Okay,” I admitted. “Maybe I was.”

He smiled as if he appreciated the confession. “Why?”

“Everybody does it.”

He shook his head. “Not me.”

I studied him. “You’re fibbing.”

He laughed softly.

“You made it in,” I said. “You’re fine.”

“Barely,” he said.

I laughed softly.

The elevator started moving.

He looked down at me again, slower this time, like he was paying attention to my face.

"You work here?" He asked looking genuinely interested. I looked up at him and though it would be easy to say yes, what would be the fun in that.

“I don’t usually give that information to strangers,” I said, amused.

“Fair,” he said, smiling. “So can I at least get your name?”

“How about you tell me yours,” I said back, holding his gaze. Calm. Unrushed.

For half a second, his expression shifted. Just a flicker of surprise, like he hadn’t expected me to turn it back on him.

Then he recovered, smile returning, easy and amused, like I’d said something funny again.

He was about to respond when the elevator dinged.

The doors slid open.

Instead of stepping out, he shifted to the side and held a hand out, palm open, letting me go ahead of him.

I smirked and stepped forward without hesitation.

Halfway into the hallway, I glanced back at him.

“You following me?”

He stepped out behind me, hands in his pockets. “Coincidence.”

“Mm,” I said.We walked a few steps together, the kind of side by side that felt unplanned but intentional at the same time.

Then a voice cut through the space.

“Mars.”

I turned just in time to see Caleb came down the hallway toward me, phone in one hand, expression relieved and annoyed at the same time.

“You’re here,” he said. “I'm sorry I forgot to call you, but I fixed it.”

I blinked. “Really?”

Then he noticed the man beside me.

Cal stopped.

Looked at him.

Then at me.

Then back at him.

A smile spread across his face.

“You’re early,” said Cal.

The man stepped forward easily and they clasped hands in a quick, familiar handshake, the kind that said this wasn’t their first time meeting.

“Wanted to beat traffic,” he said.