Page 4 of You Rock My World

DORIAN

One Year Ago

“ Josie,” I repeat, savoring the way the name rolls off my tongue. It suits her—simple, yet charming.

“Yes, Dorian , nice to meet you,” she says, adding a teasing lilt to my name.

Hearing her say my real name has a tendril of heat coil in my stomach. Most people in my orbit only use Rian. My agent and label had insisted that dropping the “Do” would make me edgier—more marketable. And while it worked commercially, it also chipped away at my identity.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

She sighs, then announces, “Listen, since we’re stuck here, I’m going to treat you like a regular person.”

It’s as if a switch has flipped, and her shyness has turned to sass.

Outside the elevator, there’s a power dynamic.

In here? We’re just two people equally inconvenienced.

Maybe that leveled the playing field for her.

Or she comes across as shy at first but opens up quickly once she gets a read on you.

Whatever the reason, I’m happy she’s not cowering in her corner anymore.

I purse my lips, amused. “As opposed to what? An alien with three heads?”

“You know what I mean,” she deadpans.

I give her a small nod, appreciating her frankness. “I’ve been treated worse. I don’t mind.” Before the silence creeps back in, I suggest, “We should do an inventory of the resources we have to survive the night.”

I set my phone on the floor, pat my pockets, and add a crumpled candy wrapper.

Josie raises an unimpressed brow. “A phone with no service and a candy wrapper? MacGyver would’ve restored power to LA by now.”

She flashes me a goofy grin, and her freckles dance across her cheeks. The motion is hypnotic. I realize I’m staring and avert my gaze, not wanting to make her self-conscious.

I gesture toward her oversized bag. “What are you hiding in there? That thing could double as luggage.”

She glances down. “Oh, you know, just the essentials: a grappling hook, a smoke grenade, and a compact rocket launcher. I never leave home without them.”

I low-whistle. “Mary Poppins has nothing on you.”

Josie smiles and starts unpacking. She pulls out her wallet.

A lipstick—which she isn’t wearing, but the label makes me wonder how her full lips might look in “forbidden fuchsia.” And a tampon.

She waves it in the air and says, “We won’t be needing this.

” She goes to put it away but stops mid-gesture and adds, “Unless you’re on your period? ”

“Not until the full moon,” I deadpan.

She studies me and smiles. “You’re a smartass.”

“Surprised?”

“I am a little shocked. Your public persona doesn’t exactly scream ‘quick wit.’”

I lean in, resting my elbows on my bent knees. “Really? So, what does it say?”

She considers me, then, with the candor of a toddler explaining how they colored on the wall, she says, “More like… cursed sex god.”

A deep, belly-aching laugh shakes me, the kind I haven’t experienced in months. It’s a release from all the crap going on in my life right now. When I catch my breath, I ask, “Why cursed ?”

Josie maintains a perfectly straight face. “Must be the guyliner. Gives off a tormented vibe.” She wields an eyeliner stick. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered if you need to reapply after midnight.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “I might be a smartass, but you, Josie, are a sass master.”

She pulls the topknot of her hair tighter. The gesture entirely too distracting. “I dabble in the ancient art of sarcasm.”

The playful back-and-forth flows naturally, as if we’d known each other for years instead of minutes. It’s a distraction from the mess in my head—my crumbling marriage and the uncertainty of the future.

Josie pulls out a small, worn notebook. “My diary.”

“Oh? Planning to journal our ordeal?”

“It’s a planner mostly, but if we’re stuck long enough, I might add a ‘survive a smartass rockstar’ section.”

I nod, mock-serious. “Will that go above or below ‘buy cat food’?”

Josie flips through the pages. “Below, obviously. The imaginary cats come first.”

I laugh again. “What do I have to do to beat the kitties?”

She taps her chin. “Depends. Do you purr when you’re happy?”

The question lodges in my brain, and I consider it more seriously than I should. Surprisingly, I realize that for her, I might actually purr—if I lived in a different universe where I’d never married the wrong woman and my marriage wasn’t falling apart.

The thought sobers me, a cold reminder of everything outside of this elevator I don’t want to deal with and why I had to rush downtown to do damage control.

After getting emotionally hammered by Billie Rae again, I made a scene like an amateur who doesn’t know everyone has a phone ready to record what I do.

Cue the emergency session at my PR firm and ending up stuck in their elevator.

I scrub a hand over my jaw, forcing Billie to the back of my mind.

I look at Josie again. It’s weird how a stranger feels easier to be around than the person I promised forever to.

Josie lets out a soft cheer and places a stainless-steel water bottle between us, yanking me out of the mind spiral. “Behold, the elixir of life.” She unscrews the cap. “I refilled it right before leaving the office, so we won’t perish from dehydration.”

“You work here?”

“Yeah, same firm that does your PR, but a different division; I’m in tech.” She takes a sip of water, then offers me the bottle like it’s the most natural thing.

I drink, hoping divisions don’t share info. I suddenly feel more ashamed than ever of my behavior from last night.

“Thanks for the water.” I pass it back. “Any other life-saving choices to report today?”

“Never been happier I didn’t wait to pee until I got home.”

I chuckle. Her knack for saying the first thing that pops into her head no matter how shocking, inappropriate, or perfectly disarming, knocks the rest of the darkness from my brain.

Next, she pulls out a stash of snacks—protein bars, crackers, dried fruit, and a packet of almonds.

“Is that a bag or a vending machine? Do I need exact change?”

She pops a piece of dried mango into her mouth. “When work gets crazy, I don’t have time for lunch. This is how I survive.”

I nod solemnly. “Ah, the balanced diet of a corporate warrior—stress and pocket pretzels.”

“Instead of the healthy rockstar diet of drugs and rock ’n’ roll?”

“You forgot sex.”

Josie blushes and looks away. Instantly, I feel like a total creep. “I’m not hitting on you. It’s a joke about you calling me a cursed sex god earlier.”

She meets my gaze head-on. “Don’t worry, even if you were making a pass at me, I’d never date you or sleep with you.”

“Ouch.” I mock-wince. “Please, don’t sugarcoat it. Be as direct as you can.”

Josie smiles, tossing me a protein bar. “Dinner’s served.”

I catch it, unwrapping the snack as a nagging question loops in my head. I should drop the topic. Not push. But I need to know. “May I ask why you’d never date me?”

I search her mesmerizing eyes, bracing for an answer that’s surely going to sting.