Page 22 of Falling Off Script

She couldn’t have seen the calendar entry.

Could she?

I deleted it.

But not right away.

Shit.

She’s going to tell Emily.

Or worse—she won’t.

She’ll keep it. Store it. File it in that internal hard drive labeledAdrian Zayne: Actual Human?? and pull it out during some feminist group chat like it’s a magic trick.

I can’t have that.

I open my phone and order a coffee. Black. Hot. Double shot. No foam, no milk, no weakness on record.

Then I type a new note in Slack for the team:

“Next content drop: grit, power, discipline. No softness this week.”

I stare at it a second longer.

Then add:

“No ‘growth’ metaphors either. Feels moist.”

Send.

Jessie looks up, finally. “Moist?”

“It’s a dangerous word,” I say simply.

She nods again. “Agreed.”

We don’t say anything else.

But I can feel it: she knows.

She knows I called my mom.

She knows I saidonboard the soup.

And she’s not mocking me. She’scataloguing me.

Which, somehow, is worse.

Because if she’s reporting back to Emily, I just gave them both something they can’t unsee:

A moment of actual softness.

God help me.

9. Emily

My phone pings at 10:42 PM, which is always a dangerous time for honesty and exes. But it’s Jessie.

---