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Gillian

T he first rule is to write things down.

I don’t always remember why. I just know I have to.

My journal sits open beside my keyboard, pen resting in the crease.

A single sentence at the top of the page: You had an offer.

I don’t remember writing it.

I stare at the words, heart ticking up a notch. The handwriting is mine, but the memory isn’t.

I close my eyes, willing something— anything —to surface.

Nothing.

I flip back a page.

They are lying to you.

A sharp exhale.

I don’t know who they are, but I have a pretty good guess.

I check the date in the corner. Two days ago.

The clock on my screen reads 10:23 AM. Monday.

Is it Monday?

I glance around our office floor. People at their desks, eyes glued to screens. Andra’s voice filters through the glass walls of the conference room, clipped and measured.

Normal. Everything looks normal.

But something is wrong.

I feel it before I can name it.

I flip another page.

Hollywood called.

My pulse spikes.

I don’t know what’s worse—the fact that I don’t remember, or the fact that I knew I wouldn’t.

I close the journal. Press my fingers into my temples. Think, Gillian.

A knock at my door.

I glance up. Andra.

“Morning,” she says.

Her tone is polite, professional. Too professional.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

She steps inside, closing the door behind her. My stomach tightens.

“How are you feeling today?”

A question wrapped in a test.

I reach for my coffee, stalling. “Fine.”

Andra watches me. I wonder how much she already knows.

“Good. Mr. Harrison wants the latest reports from the compliance department.”

Ellis.

His name hits like a strike to the ribs.

My hand tightens around my coffee cup. “I’ll have them by noon.”

She nods but doesn’t leave.

“Also,” she adds, flipping through the tablet in her hands, “we’ve hired someone new. An executive assistant. She’ll be managing Mr. Harrison’s schedule and handling correspondence. Thought you should be aware. Lena Blackwell, in case you run into her. I trust you’ll make her feel welcome.”

A new hire.

I should feel nothing about this, but something scratches at the back of my mind.

I wonder if I’ll even remember her name by tomorrow.

Andra shifts, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against her chin. “Gillian?”

I set the coffee mug down. “Yeah?” I say, realizing she’s been awaiting a response.

“You’ll make her feel welcome, yes?”

“Uh-huh. Of course.”

“Great—and speaking of Mr. Harrison’s schedule…he’s asked to see you this evening. I’ve penciled it in.”

Penciled it in. Like it’s a business meeting and not something that makes my stomach knot.

My head tilts. “Did he say what it was regarding?”

Andra’s smile is all professional indifference. “No, but I assume it’s the usual.”

The usual.

I nod like I understand. Like I agree.

She studies me a beat longer, then turns, heels clicking against the tile as she leaves.

I exhale slowly.

Open the journal again.

Flip back another page. Read what I’ve written.

Ellis is watching.

Of course he is.

I pick up the pen and write: Hollywood was never real.

The thought comes out of nowhere, but the second it’s on the page, I know it’s true.

I don’t remember why.

I just know.