Caleb
The mirror showed him the version America wanted. Clean. Safe. Wholesome enough to sell soap and Christmas specials. Wearing a suit that photographed well and started no conversations.
The fitting was necessary for the Sterling Gala tonight, some charity obligation the network insisted on, but necessary didn't make it interesting.
The boutique door opened.
Khakis. Polo. A watch that was trying. The posture of someone who thought walking into a room was the same as mattering in it.
"Mr. Sterling!" The greeter's voice was bright, professional. "Right this way, your brother arranged everything."
The man—Chad—smiled like he'd just won something. "Yeah, Liam knows I appreciate quality." His voice carried, present in a way that assumed people wanted to hear it.
Caleb watched in the mirror as Chad's gaze swept the boutique.
A woman in black crossed the floor, tablet tucked to her chest. Chad's attention locked onto her. His gaze started at her heels and dragged upward, lingering in a way that wanted to be seen.
Chad smiled at her, the smile of a man who thought being noticed was the same as being wanted.
"Hey." Chad's tone landed somewhere between friendly and presumptuous. "Busy day?"
The woman glanced up. Polite. Nothing offered. "We aim to provide excellent service, sir."
Chad held the smile. "I bet you do. I'm having an unbelievable day…could use someone making it better."
She angled away, smooth as glass. "Your fitting room is this way, Mr. Sterling."
Chad followed, still grinning. "You free later? I'm kidding—unless you're free."
"This way, Mr. Sterling."
The associate finished with Caleb's sleeve. "All set, Mr. Hart."
"Thank you," Caleb said, meaning it. She smiled and stepped back. He stayed where he was, adjusting his cuffs with deliberate slowness. Watching.
The personal shopper appeared for Chad. “Mr. Sterling, we’ve been expecting you.”
Chad puffed up.
The shopper gestured toward a private fitting area, then to a garment bag hanging nearby like it contained something sacred.
"For tonight's gala, you'll need something truly special. Something that announces your arrival," she unzipped the bag with a flourish.
Electric plum velvet.
Shoulders like a Bond villain. Lapels wide enough to land planes on. A ruffled silk shirt cut in a deep V. A chunky gold chain that looked like it had been stolen from a rapper's nightmares.
Caleb's eyebrows lifted a fraction. It was perfect.
Chad stared at it. "It's... bold."
"Fashion is about making bold statements," the shopper purred. "Taking risks. Not playing it safe with"—the pause was surgical—"off-the-rack basics."
Caleb bit back a smile.
"Try it," the shopper urged. "Just once."
Chad disappeared behind the curtain.
The shopper's gaze flicked to Caleb. Just for a second.
He lifted one eyebrow.
Her mouth curved.
They both knew exactly what she was doing.
Caleb turned slightly, pretending to examine his own reflection while keeping Chad's fitting area in his peripheral vision.
A minute later, Chad stepped out.
The shopper made an exaggerated gasp. "Yes. Exactly."
Chad caught his own reflection and stopped. The boutique lighting did the suit favors it didn’t deserve, making the purple look intentional instead of insane.
He turned, angling toward the mirror. The ruffled shirt fell open just enough. The chain sat heavy. The shoulders made him look broader.
He looked ridiculous.
"I don't know..." Chad said, frowning slightly at his reflection.
Then he caught movement in the mirror beyond his shoulder.
Caleb.
Recognition hit, immediate and delighted.
Chad turned. "Caleb Hart. No way." He shook his head like he couldn't believe his luck. "My mom watches your stuff religiously."
Caleb let his public smile deepen. "Your mom has excellent taste."
Chad laughed, validated. "She does. This place is insane, right?"
"It is," Caleb agreed, stepping closer. Moving from the main floor into Chad's fitting area with easy confidence.
Chad grinned, thrilled to be included.
Caleb's gaze moved to the plum suit. He studied it, then nodded once in approval.
"Now that," Caleb said, "is a man who came to be remembered."
Chad blinked. "You think? I wasn't sure if it was too much—"
"Are you kidding?" Caleb moved closer, inspecting the fabric like it was rare art. "This is exactly what you need."
The shopper nodded enthusiastically. "Precisely."
Chad’s posture shifted, straightening as if permission had just been granted.
"You don't want to blend in tonight," Caleb said. "Be unforgettable."
Chad's face lit up. "Right?"
Caleb gestured toward his own reflection. Charcoal. Tasteful. Boring. "Heartland Channel rules. If I show up in anything with opinions, half of America writes letters."
Chad barked out a laugh. The wholesome guy was trapped.
Caleb let the silence settle.
Chad looked at himself again. The doubt drained out of him in real time, replaced by something Caleb recognized from a thousand auditions: the moment someone starts believing their own performance.
"Big night?"
"Sterling Gala," Chad said. "My brother's thing."
Caleb nodded. Of course.
Chad glanced at the mirror again, then back at the suit. Decision made.
"Can you—" Chad turned, looking for the manager who'd appeared near the fitting area. "Hey. Can you tighten this? The waist feels loose."
The manager moved forward. All business.
Chad smiled at her—wider now, because he was dressed like a man who didn't get told no and Caleb Hart had just validated his existence. "Right here. I want it fitted. Like... criminally fitted."
Her hands went to the jacket. Quick. Efficient.
Chad leaned in, too close.
"You're really good at this," he said. "You know that, right?"
She didn't respond. Just worked, fingers adjusting the fabric with professional speed.
Chad watched her. Still smiling.
Caleb's expression stayed pleasant.
The manager stepped back. "I'll have the tailor make the adjustments."
"Perfect," Chad said, still watching her go.
He turned back to the mirror, catching Caleb's reflection behind him.
"You ever have a day," Chad said, "where you're just trying to keep things calm, and someone refuses to let it be calm?"
Caleb made a sympathetic sound.
Chad turned, facing Caleb more directly now. Like they were friends. Like he’d been invited. Then he exhaled theatrically.
"Rough doesn't cover it, man." Chad shook his head. "My girlfriend is blowing something completely out of proportion. Making everything harder than it needs to be."
"Like I'm supposed to drop everything and manage her feelings because she can't handle—"
He stopped himself. Barely.
"She's usually helpful. Smooths things over. Makes it easier."
Genuine confusion threaded through his voice. “But today? Today she's just... not. I asked her to handle something at lunch—basic stuff, just get the caterer to do his job properly—and she acted like she didn't even understand what I was asking for."
"I gave her everything. Job, access, stability. She got me, and she can’t even do this one little thing for me."
Caleb kept his face neutral. Letting the silence invite more.
"Now she's being all cold. Playing games. She doesn't get to decide we're done, not after everything I've put into her."
“What happened?"
Chad's hand waved around dismissively, “She saw something she shouldn’t have seen. Made a big deal out of nothing. I told her it was a prank. April Fools, you know? But she’s being completely unreasonable about it.”
She saw you. In another woman.
Caleb had played the field. He wasn’t a saint.
He’d had his share of casual, of complicated.
But he’d never pretended it was something else. Never rewritten the scene afterward.
Chad was still talking. "And the worst part? She's acting like I'm the bad guy. Like I did something wrong when she's the one being crazy about it."
Caleb made an agreeable sound, the noise of a man absolutely on your side.
He wasn't.
Chad's shoulders dropped. "Right? Thank you. Finally, someone who gets it."
Caleb looked at him. Kept looking. The suit wasn't enough. Chad thought he was the lead. Treated unfairly.
So you don’t change anything. You remove the audience that was pretending to be impressed and hold up a mirror.
Caleb had a casting director who owed him a favor. A room with cameras. And an hour before Chad needed to be at the gala.
I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse.
"You've got presence," Caleb said, his tone shifting. "That thing you can't fake. The camera either sees it or it doesn't."
Chad's eyes widened theatrically. "Me?"
"I'm serious." Caleb kept his voice light, easy, like he was just making conversation. "Some people have it. The camera likes them. And you’ve got something."
Chad's face changed—hope flooding in, fast and stupid. His chest expanded.
"I mean," Chad said, trying for modest, his voice pitching up, "I've never acted professionally."
"You don't need to," Caleb said. "The camera sees what it sees. And right now, my team is looking for someone with exactly your energy."
He pulled out his phone. Scrolled like he was checking emails, not making a decision.
"We've had a slot open up—casting's scrambling to fill it. Honestly?" He glanced up. Met Chad's eyes. "You might be exactly what they're looking for. If you can get there in the next hour, I'll make sure someone sees you."
Chad's eyes were bright. Too bright. His mouth opened slightly before he caught himself.
"Yes," Chad said. Immediate. No hesitation. "I can clear my schedule. Where do I go?"
Caleb rattled off an address, then clapped Chad on the shoulder. The way he did with extras who needed a confidence boost.
"Wear something comfortable. This is just a read-through, get a feel for the character. Save the power suit for tonight."
The shopper appeared with the garment bag. She packed the electric plum suit with the care of someone handling something precious.
"Keep it pristine," she said, handing it over. "You'll want to make an entrance." Caleb smiled. Wholesome. America's sweetheart. "Break a leg," he said.
Five minutes later, Chad walked out in his khakis and polo, clutching the garment bag like it contained his entire future.
His face was bright. Confident. Like a man who'd just won the lottery.
The door closed behind him with a soft hiss.
The shopper turned and crossed back to Caleb.
She looked him over, one brow arched. "You really think he deserves an audition?"
"No," he said. "I think he deserves exactly what he asked for.”