Page 63

She's got a knack for unmasking the juiciest secrets, though I'm an open book. Everyone tiptoesaround her, fearing their business might end up as her latest headline rather than a private matter.
Her eyes light up with excitement. "Oh, the usual, huh? Girl, you won't believe the weekend I had. I met this guy at a coffee shop, and we ended up salsa dancing until the early hours. Can you imagine?"
As Jenna regales her weekend adventures, a twinge of envy settles in my gut. My weekend consisted of a fierce battle between me and a bag of potato chips while Chandler Bing cracked jokes on the screen. Not exactly the stuff of epic tales.
I flash a tired smile, genuinely happy for her but not quite ready for her Monday morning enthusiasm. "Sounds like a blast. I spent my weekend in a thrilling pursuit of my couch's most comfortable spot."
Jenna's eyes widen in mock horror. Dramatic much?
"You did what? Marissa, honey, that's not living. You need some excitement in your life. Spice things up a bit!"
I release a dry chuckle because this is a line I've heard a thousand times. It's why Cindy keeps insisting that I don't forget our lunch date. It's not like I'm a loner. I just prefer the safe confines of my own space to actually hanging out.
"Well, I did binge-watch Friends. Does that count as excitement?"
She draws in a scenic gasp, placing a hand on her chest. "Oh no. That's a cry for help."
I lift my right shoulder in a half-shrug, feigning nonchalance. "Hey, I enjoy my cozy weekends. Besides, Ross and Rachel's on-again, off-again drama is oddly comforting."
Jenna shakes her head, her disapproval evident. But I don't exactly care what people think about me, especially not her.
"You're living in a sitcom when you could be living in a blockbuster movie like the ones the company makes, darling. We need to get you out more. You can't let your couch become your best friend. Go out, meet people, live a little!"
I raise an eyebrow, "My couch is pretty reliable, though. It never cancels plans on me."
She laughs, "Fair point, but seriously, you're young, beautiful, and working in the film industry. The world is your oyster, and you're stuck with a couch. It's tragic, really."
We reach the elevator, and I press the button, amused by Jenna's zeal. But it's Jenna. I don't know why she still manages to surprise me.
"Well, I did contemplate going for a walk once, but then I realized I'd have to put on real pants. That was a deal-breaker."
Jenna rolls her eyes, "Real pants? The horror! But seriously, Marissa, you need some excitement. Maybe we should hit a club next weekend. I know a place with killer music, and I promise, no salsa dancing unless you're into it."
The elevator doors open, and we step in, joining the herd of colleagues ready for another week in the film production hustle.
"Clubbing, huh? I'll think about it."
And ladies and gentlemen, that translates to a big fat no. There's no way in heaven or hell I'm going clubbing with her of all people.
The silence closes in on me as Jenna and the others leave the elevator. It starts up again, and I take it down by myself while the low hum of the engine and the familiar metallic smell surround me.
As the doors start to close, a hand slides between them, halting their progress. I glance up, ready to offer a polite smile to whoever's joining the ride up.
But as the doors slide open again, my heart leaps into my throat, and the blood drains from my face. I'm frozen in place, my pulse racing.
It's him.
Bryce Alston. My childhood crush. My best friend's brother.
Time freezes as he enters, his presence dominating the space. Our eyes meet briefly, a split second that feels like an eternity, and an electric current zaps through my veins, leaving me breathless.
The lanky boy I once knew has transformed into a man who commands attention effortlessly. Dark, tousled hair frames his face. Deep brown eyes, once warm and familiar, now carry an intensity that pierces through me. A sculpted jawline and a hint of stubble add to his allure, making my heart race in ways I never thought possible.
His shoulders are wide, and his suit is tight across them, showing off his strength, which is more than I expected. The fabric of his suit clings to his body, emphasizing his muscles, and I can’t help but notice how well-built he is.
How is this possible? After all these years, after everything that happened between us, Bryce is here.
His eyes briefly flash with recognition as the elevator doors close, trapping us in this small space, but they quickly return to a guarded expression.