Page 19 of You Rock My World

JOSIE

The silence stretches endlessly, each second folding into the next as I wait for his answer.

“Not getting divorced sooner,” Dorian replies, blue eyes on me.

The admission carves into the stillness between us. The words settle in my soul like an uninvited guest I’ve no idea how to greet. Keep quiet and pretend not to be home? Bar the door and send them away? Or throw it wide open and let them in?

A high, invisible pressure vibrates in the space separating us.

Heart thumping, I ask him, “Why?”

Dorian smirks, eyes crinkling. “You already used your question, Josie.”

“What?” I blink, taken aback. “That’s ridiculous. I don’t get a follow-up?”

My muscles tense, the need for answers coiling in my stomach painfully tight. But Dorian seems entirely unfazed by my protest. His smirk lingers as he calmly shrugs. “I’m only following the rules.”

I scowl. “You mean the made-up rules of your made-up game?”

He watches me squirm with infuriating ease, as if this is just another move in a match he already knows he’ll win.

“Rules are rules.”

“Go ahead, Rule Police, ask your question.” I gesture impatiently.

“Have you thought about me this past year?”

I cross my arms, straightening my posture, and meet his gaze, keeping my answer minimal. “I have.”

A flicker of satisfaction warms me, knowing the simplicity of my response will frustrate him right back. But instead of conceding, he appears more satisfied than before, his grin broadening, making me second-guess my advantage.

“Touché.”

It’s my turn again, and I don’t hesitate. “Why did you wish you’d gotten divorced sooner?” I drop the question and wait for an answer that could change everything.

This time, he doesn’t deflect. He pins me down with a stare as he tells me, “So I would’ve been unattached when I met you. So, I could’ve kissed you that night.”

The words detonate in my mind, scattering every carefully stacked barrier, dragging me back to the hours in the elevator in vivid detail. The press of the metal walls boxing us in, the flicker of the emergency light, the faint scent of leather and forest that was undeniably his.

But more intense than anything else are the memories of his silences, how he’d looked at me like he had a secret he couldn’t share. Only now do I realize that the suspension between us hadn’t been indecision; it had been restraint.

The memory isn’t soft; it’s a jagged pull, cutting me open with everything we didn’t do, didn’t say.

I grasp the blanket, crushed by what-ifs.

I don’t know what to do with this new knowledge, this revelation that’s repainting the edges of what I thought was possible.

My heart is doing painful kung fu moves in my chest, torn between the thrill of his words and the fear of letting myself believe them.

I tap my foot on the ground. It’s the only movement I allow myself while I fight the tide of uncertainty so it won’t swallow me whole. “You wanted to kiss me?”

Dorian’s expression hardens, not with restraint but with intent. “I did. I still do. And that’s two questions.”

It doesn’t matter how many questions because we’re no longer playing a game.

But before I can protest, he asks, “How often have you thought about me this past year?”

I glance away, not able to hold his gaze. “Dorian, I can’t go there.”

“Why not?” he demands in a measured tone.

I force myself to look at him again. His face has changed; the smirk is gone, replaced by a seriousness that makes my breath shallow.

I pick at a loose thread on the blanket, unraveling it, same as his words are unraveling me as I give him the truth. “Because I’ve thought about you every single day.” The admission spills from me in a rush. “I went to your concerts in Inglewood.”

Dorian leans in, his attention so fixed on me, it feels like the blaze of headlights cutting through a dark road: sudden, blinding, unescapable. “Which night?”

“All of them,” I confess in a whisper.

His eyes widen, my answer seeming to stagger him. But now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. “The last night, when Billie Rae came on stage, I… I fled the stadium in tears. I told myself I had to get you out of my head, that it was crazy to be so hung up on someone I met only once.”

I drop my gaze to my hands, twisting them in my lap. The memory of that night is still raw, the pain of watching him singing with her.

Dorian is silent for a long beat. I don’t look at him, afraid of what I’ll see in his eyes. Pity? Regret? Confirmation that I’m nothing more than another crazy fan?

“Josie.” His hand covers mine, stilling my restless fingers. “Look at me.”

I do as he asks. His gaze on me is soft and intense at the same time, calm and churning.

“Billie showed up that night on stage only to rattle me,” he explains. “We were already negotiating the divorce settlement at that point. I had to roll with it not to make a scene. I had no choice.”

I let his words sink in, but they do little to ease the knot of emotions sitting heavy in my chest. “Even so,” I say, my voice quieter now, “there are a million reasons we shouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Dorian’s eyes bore into mine. “Name them.”

I want to ignore the rational arguments and tell him he can kiss me now if he still wants to. But I can’t. So I don’t back down. “For one, you’re fresh out of a divorce.”

“My marriage has been over for two years,” he counters. “When I met you, it was already over.”

“But it still took you another year to formally end it,” I argue. “And rebound relationships are called that way for a reason.”

A protest rises to his lips, but I barrel through, unwilling to lose momentum.

“And even if I disregarded that, the unknowns of your world are daunting for someone like me.” His jaw ticks, like he’s holding himself back.

And I take advantage, voicing my doubts.

“But most importantly, I’m not sure what we felt that night was even real.

” My voice softens as I add, “We’ve spent a few hours locked up together, and it feels like we’ve known each other for a lifetime, but we really don’t.

It was a cocoon, an unreal situation with heightened emotions. Like being on The Bachelor .”

Dorian scoffs and leans back, studying me with eyes that want to stay serious but sparkle with amusement. “How is being trapped in an elevator comparable to being on The Bachelor ? Shouldn’t there be more screaming women?”

Despite myself, I smile. “Be serious,” I scold him playfully. “Don’t make me laugh when I’m making a point.”

He raises his hands in mock-surrender, a smirk playing on his lips. “My apologies. Please, continue.”

I pluck a blade of grass, gathering my thoughts.

“It’s like being on a TV show because it’s easy to feel infatuated while on a hot-air balloon ride, followed by dinner in a vineyard surrounded by twinkling fairy lights and sharing roasted marshmallows by a firepit for dessert with only the moonlight as a companion. ”

Dorian’s smirk widens. “You’re really romanticizing our captivity in that elevator.”

I shoot him a look but can’t entirely hide my own smile. “Because those ten hours felt more exhilarating than any scripted date could ever be. But real life isn’t like that.” My smile fades as I meet his gaze head-on. “We don’t really know each other.”

Dorian’s expression sobers. “That isn’t entirely accurate.

I know that you’re kind, fun, and sarcastic.

What song you listen to when you need to ugly cry.

That you hold yourself together for everyone else, but sometimes, you just need someone to see through it.

You have a tell when you’re about to cry.

The way you blink fast, like you can will the tears away before they have the chance to fall.

Because you want to be strong enough that no one ever has to worry about you.

And you deflect with humor when you’re uncomfortable.

Sarcasm is your armor to hide everything you’re afraid to show. ”

Gosh, why does he have to be so—so him ? So into my very soul. I can’t even process everything he just told me.

I sigh, conceding the point. “Okay, yes, we shared some deeper truths that night. But we also missed so much.” He opens his mouth to protest again, but I hold up a hand to stop him.

“Be honest, Dorian. Until an hour ago, you didn’t know I lost my brother-in-law in a fire.

You don’t know where I went to high school or what foods I hate.

You don’t even know where I live.” He frowns, but he remains silent as I continue.

“And what I assume I know about you must be mostly untrue, cobbled together from gossip sites and social media. Only last week, I thought your marriage to Billie Rae was picture-perfect.”

Something in Dorian’s expression shifts, vulnerability flickering in his piercing eyes. “What if I wanted to learn all of that about you, Josie?”

Yearning wars with the stark reality of our situation. “I’m working for you now, Dorian. Even if I was willing to overlook the other risks, I can’t date you. My boss made it clear that if I so much as look at you with anything other than total professional detachment, she’ll fire me.”

Dorian sighs heavily, regret evident in the set of his jaw. “Is it too late to request working with someone else?”

“Yes, it would make me look terrible.”

He runs a hand through his dark locks, his gaze meeting mine with a rueful intensity. “Then I’m changing my original answer. My biggest regret is requesting you to be on my PR account.”

I stare at him, confused. “Why did you approach me this way? You could’ve asked me out like a normal person.”

His response is a frustrated, “I wasn’t sure how you’d react. When you saw me at that party, you avoided me.”

“Because I thought you were married,” I protest, my hands flailing.

“I didn’t know that was the only reason,” he counters earnestly. “You were on a date. It was a month ago. You could be in a relationship by now. What if you were no longer single?”