Page 35 of False Start, Real Passion

This is bad. No, scratch that. This is career-endingly, life-alteringly, epically bad.

Checking the bedside clock, I see it’s much later than I thought.

Crap, crap, crap.

I scramble into my discarded clothes, tripping over my heels in my haste. I can’t be here when he wakes up. I cannot believe I actually slept with my client. Tossing a wad of cash on the nightstand, I scribble a hasty note, my hand shaking:

Jaxon –

I’m so sorry for sneaking out. Last night was…amazing. But it can’t happen again. This is why we had the no-strings rule, right? I’ll see you at practice, and we’ll pretend this never happened.

- Tori

Heart pounding, I creep to the door, sneaking out as stealthily as possible. The cold air slaps my flushed face as I race to my car, keys shaking in my trembling hands.

Yesterday, my life was simple.

Today?

I have no freaking clue what just happened or how I’m going to face him tomorrow, let alone fake my way through another day of PDA and sexy glances.

But one thing’s for certain: This just got a whole lot messier.

The door clicks shut behind me with a soft snick, and I lean against it, eyes closed, pulse still racing. I can feel Jaxon’s touch lingering on my skin like a brand, can still taste him on my lips.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, jolting me out of my reverie. I fish it out with shaking hands, already knowing who it is before I even look at the screen.

You felt incredible.

My heart stutters in my chest, a dizzying mix of panic and longing.

I push off the door, my legs unsteady as I make my way down the hall. The plush carpet muffles my footsteps, the cool marble of the walls a sharp contrast to the heat still thrumming through my veins.

I step into the elevator, my reflection in the mirrored walls a stranger—hair mussed, lips swollen, eyes bright with a cocktail of emotions I can’t even begin to untangle.

My phone buzzes again, insistent. Another text from Jaxon.

We need to talk about this, Tori. About us.

Us. Is there an “us”? Can there be, when this all started with a lie?

The elevator doors slide open, depositing me into the sleek lobby of Jaxon’s building. I stride across the gleaming floor, nodding to the doorman as I push out into the crisp morning air.

Chapter ten

The Moment Everything Changed

Thereisseventy-threepacesbetween the edge of the coffee table and the front door, and I’m familiar with every single one of them. I’ve worn them in with my own restless footprints. It’s still not enough to get Jaxon out of my head.

I’ve tried wine. I’ve tried working.

The glass is sitting on the counter, half-empty, and the papers are scattered like dead leaves around the living room. I try taking my shoes off, but that doesn’t help either. Nothing does. Not while my phone’s sitting there dark, nothing but a black, blank screen and my own hopes reflects off it. I look at it again, expecting nothing, and—there’s the doorbell instead. My stomach knots up. I pause, barefoot and breathless, but somehow still manage to cross the room. The sight of him through the peephole makes my heart stop. It’s Jaxon. He looks nervous. Not a trace of his usual smile. I hesitate with my hand on the knob.

How long has it been since I’ve worked a case this hard? PR is a strange animal, and a big account usually means round-the-clock scrambling to control someone’s image. But it’s Jaxon who has me tripping over my own feet, not the case. This is different. It’s been a day since our last encounter, and now I’m a wreck. The old, dispassionate Tori would have stuck to a schedule. She would have worked out exactly when and how he’d get in touch. She’d have known exactly what he’d say, what she’d say back. The old Tori wouldn’t be glancing at her phone every other second, desperate, full of dread and nerves, watching the minutes drag on without a single message.

He’s in my head, in every shadow of this room. The quiet here is a constant reminder of how loud my thoughts are. There’s the muffled thud of my shoes where I’ve left them kicked off by the door. There’s the rustle of paper every time I brush past the table. And the phone. Sitting silently like it’s judging me. Not ringing, not lighting up. The old Tori would have done something about it, some sort of controlled, decisive thing. This version? She’s just pacing in her bare feet, trying not to trip on her own jumbled mess of an apartment, a mess she doesn’t even remember making.

I’m a woman who likes order, damn it. Control. I’m not the one who waits around for someone else to make the first move. My pulse races, and I know I’ve got to pull myself together. Be the person who sees this as part of the job and nothing more. So why does my heart keep skipping like it’s trying to wear itself out? Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t. One thing’s for sure: I can’t focus on anything but Jaxon. Not a chance in hell.

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