Chapter 3
Jalen
Houston traffic will humble anybody, so I left early.
I've always liked arriving before the chaos started.
Today I was headed downtown for Caleb's podcast, which was still funny to think about.
Caleb Sinclair.
The voice everybody loved.
The guy who could make an interview feel like a conversation around somebody's kitchen table, even with cameras rolling, sponsors watching, and a production crew filling the room.
Cal and I went back.
College days.
Long nights.
Too much confidence.
Not enough sense.
He was one of the few people who knew me before football turned into a business.
I was looking forward to seeing him because he never treated me like a celebrity.
To him, I was still just Jalen.
I didn't bring a driver that morning.
Most days I did.
Schedule.
Security.
Convenience.
All the things that come with living a life that stops feeling like your own once strangers recognize your face before they know your name.
But every now and then, I liked getting behind the wheel myself.
No assistant.
No car service.
Just me, traffic, and whatever playlist fit my mood.
It was a small freedom, but one I appreciated more than most people would understand.
That's exactly how I wanted the day to feel.
Simple.
Normal.
Mine.
I just didn't expect it to begin with someone trying to shut an elevator door in my face.
I reached the elevators just as the doors were sliding closed.
Inside stood a woman who looked completely committed to making sure nobody else got on.
I stuck my hand between the doors before they sealed shut.
They slid back open.
She looked up at me.
Small.
Confident.
Perfectly put together without looking like she'd spent hours trying.
A tailored blazer.
Heels.
Big, expressive brown eyes.
I stepped inside, fighting back a grin.
The whole situation caught me off guard.
She'd nearly trapped herself inside the elevator like it was the last lifeboat on earth, and somehow seemed annoyed that I'd interrupted her escape.
A laugh escaped before I could stop it.
She lifted an eyebrow.
“What's funny?”
Direct.
I respected that immediately.
I pressed my lips together, pretending I might actually keep the answer to myself.
Then I gave up.
“You trying to close the elevator on me.”
She paused just long enough for me to wonder if she'd deny it.
Instead, she shrugged.
“Okay.
Maybe I was.”
My smile appeared without permission.
“Why?”
“Everybody does it.”
I shook my head.
“Not me.”
She studied me, her gaze sharp and assessing, like she was deciding whether I actually believed what I'd just said.
“You're fibbing.”
A grin spread across my face.
She lifted her chin ever so slightly, calm and completely comfortable in her own skin.
“You made it in.
You're fine.”
“Barely,” I said.
A quiet laugh escaped her before she could catch it.
The elevator continued its slow climb, and somewhere between one floor and the next, I realized I was paying far more attention to her than I should've been.
Not just because she was beautiful.
She was.
There was no denying that.
But it was the way she carried herself.
She didn't seem interested in impressing anyone.
She wasn't waiting for approval or looking for attention.
She occupied every inch of the space around her with quiet confidence, completely comfortable being exactly who she was.
I found myself asking the first thing that came to mind.
“You work here?”
A flicker of amusement crossed her face.
She looked like she could've answered the question easily but decided I hadn't earned it.
“I don't usually give that information to strangers.”
“Fair,” I said with a smile.
“So can I at least get your name?”
She didn't blink.
Didn't hesitate.
Didn't look away.
She simply held my gaze like she had all the time in the world.
“How about you tell me yours,” she said.
That caught me off guard.
Not because it was a clever line, but because it was so effortless.
Most people didn’t ask for my name—they already knew it, or they fished for it because they recognized my face.
She asked like she genuinely had no idea who I was, and for half a second, the surprise caught in my throat.
I recovered quickly, letting the humor return before the silence turned awkward.
I opened my mouth to answer, but the elevator chimed and the doors slid open.
Perfect timing for the universe to be petty.
Instead of stepping out, I shifted to the side and gestured for her to go first.
I wasn't trying to score points for chivalry; something about her just made me want to.
A faint smirk touched her lips as she walked past me like she owned the hallway.
Halfway out, she glanced back over her shoulder.
“You following me?”
I stepped into the corridor behind her, sliding my hands into my pockets to hide the sudden jump in my pulse.
“Coincidence.”
“Mmhmm.”
She didn’t believe a word.
We walked side by side for a few steps, an easy, unhurried rhythm that only made me more curious.
It wasn't planned, and it wasn't awkward.
It was just easy, the kind of comfortable rhythm that immediately made me want to know more.
Then a voice cut through the corridor.
“Mars!”
I looked up to see Caleb hurrying down the hallway, phone in hand, moving with the controlled urgency he always carried when work was involved.
The moment he reached us, the stress on his face melted into relief.
“You're here,” he told her.
“I'm sorry.
I forgot to call you, but I fixed it.”
So this was the brilliant publicist he'd been raving about for months.
Mars.
The name fit her perfectly, even if I couldn't explain why.
Cal finally turned his attention to me, his face lighting up instantly.
“There he is.”
He stepped forward, clasping my hand in the same quick, solid grip we'd used since our college days.
“You're early.”
“Wanted to beat traffic,” I said.
He laughed.
“Of course you did.”
Mars looked between us, her brows knitting together slightly.
“You two know each other?”
Cal’s grin widened like Christmas had come early.
“Know each other?” he chuckled.
“Mars, this is Jalen Carter.”
I watched her face closely, waiting for the shift.
No gasp.
No sudden fangirl moment.
No dramatic change at all.
Just the slightest pause as she filed away the new information.
“And this,” Cal continued, clearly enjoying himself, “is my sister.
My publicist.
And the person who basically runs my entire life.”
Sister.
That explained a lot.
Something in Mars shifted.
Not colder, just professional.
She extended her hand, smooth as if the elevator standoff had never happened.
“It's nice to meet you.”
I took her hand, her grip firm and confident.
“Likewise.”
Cal draped an arm around my shoulders.
“Come on.
Let's get you settled before you start stealing my staff.”
He steered me toward the studio.
I went with him, but I couldn't help glancing back over my shoulder.
Mars was still standing where we'd left her, watching us with a calm, unreadable expression.
The interview went exactly how I'd expected.
Cal had a gift for making people forget there were cameras in the room.
Nothing felt forced.
Nothing felt rehearsed.
It was just a conversation.
Every now and then, though, my eyes drifted toward the control room.
Mars sat behind the glass with a stack of papers, quietly focused on her work, though once or twice I caught her looking back.
After we wrapped, Cal stretched his arms over his head.
“Let's grab happy hour.”
I hesitated, not wanting to intrude on their sibling time.
When I looked at Mars, she didn't seem excited, but she didn't seem opposed either.
If anything, she looked like she was mentally weighing the value of socializing against the promise of good food.
“You wouldn't be imposing,” she said, offering a small smile.
There was a magnetic, comfortable ease to her.
She wasn't trying to command attention; she simply had it.
“I'd love to,” I said.
“I'll drive.”
“That's okay,” Mars countered, a little too quickly.
“I'll just meet you there.”
Cal didn't even acknowledge the escape plan.
“So you can disappear?” he asked, already wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“Absolutely not.
Let's go.”
She nudged him with an annoyed look.
In the shuffle, the claw clip holding her hair slipped loose.
I wasn't trying to watch.
But I noticed.
Her hand lifted automatically.
She slid the clip free.
And her hair spilled over her shoulders.
Thick.
Soft.
Her hair framed her face in a way that made her look even more striking.
My eyes dipped before I could stop them, just for a second, but long enough to appreciate it.
I looked back up a fraction too late.
I felt my lips part ever so slightly, my tongue brushing across my bottom lip before I caught myself and schooled my expression.
It was subtle, quick, but not nearly quick enough.
Mars paused for a single instant.
I saw the tiny shift in her posture, the awareness settling into her eyes.
She’d caught me looking.
Instead of trying to fix the clip, she let her hair stay down, and that did something to me I wasn’t prepared for.
Cal kept talking, completely oblivious, steering us toward the garage.
But something had shifted.
As we stepped out to the cars, I had the uncomfortable realization that happy hour was about to require a lot more self-control than I’d planned on bringing.
On the ride there, the dynamic in the car felt charged.
Cal held down the back seat while Mars sat beside me in the front, the music playing low.
Most women changed a little once they realized who I was, even the confident ones.
The energy usually shifted, but Mars didn't blink.
If anything, she seemed more amused than impressed by my reality.
I caught myself watching her reflection in the windshield.
I liked the way she looked out the window, like she actually saw the city, and the way she never rushed to fill the silence.
She answered Cal's questions directly, but never gave away more than she wanted to.
By the time we turned into Montrose, the traffic was thinning out and the city was slowing down around us.
I realized I wasn’t just going to happy hour because Cal had asked.
I was going because I wanted to see what Mars was like when she forgot to guard herself.