Page 49 of Enemies Off Camera
I nod. “Right. Good night.”
He nods back and—without another word—whips around and walks off.
I hold my breath as I watch him disappear down the hallway. When I’m sure he’s far enough away, I finally exhale and collapse back into my chair.
Goodness. Isthishow it’s going to be living with Jaxon Wilde?
I’ve got to get a grip.
I can’t let lust drown my judgment.
I have to remember—this is all an act. Jaxon and I are like night and day. Good and evil. Never and never.
THIRTY-SEVEN
The truth is, I didn’t know what to do with that little interaction between Jaxon and me last night.
But when I finally made it back to my room, I took one of the best showers of my life. The steam—infused with eucalyptus—cleared my sinusesandmy head. There was no tossing, no turning. No staring at the ceiling, wondering why my chest felt tight. None of that last night.
By the time my face hit the pillow, I felt light. Rinsed clean. Sleep came instantly.
Nope.
Anxiety just waited until morning to pounce.
It’s barely past seven, and already I feel like my day is sprinting ahead without me. I practically leap out of bed, survival mode fully activated.
First: check my calendar.
Just as I remembered: a virtual table reading at nine. I exhale maybe twenty percent of my anxiety. There’s time.
Second: get dressed.
I pull on a plain black cashmere sweatsuit, already thinking about my script, laptop, and extra monitor. I’m pretty sure Anita was supposed to show me my office, but after I called her out on her passive-aggressiveness, she cut the tour short.
Sliding into a pair of multicolored striped socks, I grab my phone and head out, determined to find the workspace myself.
I wonder where Jaxon’s bedroom is. The last thing I need is to stumble into it by accident. I remember that all the fun stuff—the spa, gym, theater, private pool—is on the opposite side of the house. Kitchen and living room are dead center.
If my office were near any of that, Anita would’ve shown me.
Which means... it’s probably onthisside.
I pass a sleek powder room—minimal and elegant, like the rest of the place. Then, at the next doorway, I startle so hard my hand flies to my chest.
Shirtless, Jaxon sits cross-legged on the floor, facing the eastern city view, sunlight spilling over him like some ancient warrior-god.
His back is pure perfection. Of course.
You can’t do what Jaxon does for a living andnotbe in optimal shape.
“Sorry,” I blurt, just as he turns—before I can escape.
At least he doesn’t look annoyed.
He pivots fully toward me.
“It’s fine. How’d you sleep?”
