Page 15 of For the Plot
“Because of who it is?” I nod and she sighs. “I get it. I know that Archer was a prick back then and hey, he probably still is, but don’t pass up a good opportunity just because some slutty-ass dude couldn’t keep it in his pants.”
Maya walks to the door, grabbing her keys from the hook. But just before she opens it, she turns back, eyes softer now.
“You don’t have todoanything, Skye. But maybe… maybe stop punishing yourself for wanting something different. Something bold.”
I frown. “You think sleeping with my ex’s dad is bold?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “No. I thinknotdoing anything because you're afraid of what it might look like is cowardly.”
I go still, the words hitting a little too close to home.
“I’m not saying screw your way through your trauma,” she adds, more gently this time. “But maybe screw someone who makes you forget you ever had any.”
I laugh despite the sting in my chest.
Maya opens the door, and with one last glance over her shoulder, she winks.
“And hey, if the opportunity arises to screw your ex’s dad, then hell yes. Do it for the plot.”
After she leaves, I wash the dishes. I do a load of laundry. I sweep, organize my junk drawer, and alphabetize my spice rack, because when I’m overwhelmed, I micro-control everything that won’t talk back.
But none of it stops the pull.
Late afternoon light filters through my windows, soft and golden, and I find myself back at my kitchen island, staring at the card again.
I pull out my laptop and sit.
Just sit.
For a long time, I don’t do anything. I just let the cursor blink on the blank email screen while my heart hammers something frantic behind my ribs.
This isn’t just about a job. It’s about an opportunity, an open door to just check out mentally for a bit while I get my life figured out and still collect a paycheck.
But deep down inside, I do hope it’s more than that. As fucked up and selfish and… really, really fucked up it is to be salivating over your ex’s dad, I can’t seem to stop myself.
And I don’t think I really even want to try.
So, against my bruised ego and better judgment, I type up a quick note and send it to the email address on his card, along with my résumé. Then I grab my phone and type in the cell number he scribbled on the back.
Me:Hi, Mr. Blackwood, it’s Skye. I just wanted to let you know I sent my résumé over and I’d be happy to set up an interview with you. Let me know the best time.
Before I can second-guess everything, I hit send.
Chapter 4
Reece
The office is quiet. Sunday quiet.
I like it this way, no calls, no overlapping meetings, no board members knocking on the glass pretending they didn’t schedule something just to be seen. The sun filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows in long, pale bands, warming the edge of my desk like it’s trying to coax me into pretending this space is something softer than what it is.
But I don’t pretend. Not here. I stare at the open file in front of me, jaw flexing.
Skye Rhodes.
Her résumé is clean. Organized. Deceptively simple, like it’s daring the reader to underestimate her. But I don’t. I read between the lines. I always do.
She wasn’t lying. Her role at LexaTech was significant, senior marketing analyst managing cross-platform brand strategy, responsible for three product launches and a sixty percent uptick in lead conversions year-over-year.
