Page 124 of Press Play

Mark:That’s a smart idea.

Henry:And don’t plan it. That way she’s not anxious throughout the day.

Oliver:Did Henry just say that? Am I losing my mind?

Henry:I have my moments.

I’ve never done anything like that before, and if I do this, I can show her face and then find a way to crop it so we’re not entirely shown.

Me:I never thought I’d say this, but Henry, you’re brilliant.

Henry:Father’s proud of me.

Not wanting to touch that topic, I drop my phone on the couch cushion and look toward my girl’s room.

Amanda thought she would ruin Wren and me. And she almost did because I would do anything to protect her. But I don’t have to give that thought the time of day anymore. She’s here, and there’s a plan. This has to happen by tomorrow, and I have just the idea in mind.

Chapter Forty-Four

Wren

The day comes and goes.Theo is visibly more relaxed, happy even. He hummed to himself as he fixed us both drinks this morning, a grin tugging on his lips. It was the first time I’d seen him so lighthearted in days, and I couldn’t help but smile back. His energy lifts my own, but the lingering twist of nerves in my stomach is hard to ignore.

It has to happen today.

Amanda gave him until Friday, which is tomorrow. Everything is happening so quickly. I hardly had time to prepare. What do I even prepare for? I’ve never done anything like this. I don’t have a thin stomach. Hell, my thunder thighs might take up the entire frame.

I whimper into my hands. This was a bad idea. What in the world was I thinking!? Theo thinks he isn’t good enough for me, but he has no idea that my own doubts weigh twice as much. I don’t have thick skin, despite growing up with my mother. And while I don’t intend to read the comments, I know I won’t be able to help myself. What’ll happen if people start to question us? Me in particular?

She’s huge!

Not even remotely attractive.

Blink twice if you need help, Theo.

Nothing like Amanda.

I peek through my fingers and stare at the computer screen. 2:07 p.m.Almost time to clock out. . . But the thought of sitting here for another hour and a half makes my temples throb. A familiar ding sounds from the speakers. I glance at the message and tug on my hair.

Vera:What is the update on your current case?

Nope, not today.

Against my better judgment, I put myself on “in a meeting,” open a blank Word document, place a stray trinket on my space bar, and walk away. A lot of people who work from home have their own tricks, but it always felt a little dishonest—until today.

I step into the living room, my socks padding against the floor. The weight of my thoughts clings to me, thick and oppressive, but the sight before me stops me in my tracks. Theo stands near the window, his profile outlined by the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains.

He’s wearing jeans, the kind that hug his frame just enough, and a plain white T-shirt that clings to his shoulders. His hair is slicked back, but not too much—it’s still a little messy, a few stray strands curling near his ears. He’s effortlessly put together, as if he woke up like this. As if this was just. . . him.

A lump forms in my throat. How does he manage to look this good without even trying? It’s almost unfair.

Theo glances over his shoulder, catching me staring. His grin spreads, lazy and warm, like the sun itself. “Done already? Or. . . Wren, are you skipping the last hour?” He clicks his tongue with an amused smirk.

My cheeks warm. “I couldn’t stand to be in there anymore,” I mutter, tugging at the hem of my shirt.

My insecurities hit me all at once—my rumpled clothes, my flushed face—like I’ve been hiding under a desk all day.

He crosses the room in a few strides, and before I can retreat, he’s standing in front of me. His eyes soften as they scan my face. “Are you okay?”

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