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Brace myself? For what? What the hell does that mean? My mind races, conjuring up scenarios that range from bad to disastrous, but nothing concrete takes shape.
"Dammit," I whisper into the silence, my body taut with anticipation. Tomorrow feels like a lifetime away, and I'm caught in the limbo of not knowing—the worst place to be for someone who lives their life in the spotlight.
Tossing the phone aside, I pull the covers over my head, as if I can shield myself from the storm brewing outside. But deep down, I know there's no hiding from what's coming. Whatever it is, it's going to hit, and it's going to hit hard.
CHAPTER
NINE
Ben
The door to the boss's office swings open like the gates to my personal hell. Here it is—the moment that could ground me for good.
"Ben Caldwell," my boss, a man of too few smiles and too many frowns, motions me in without even looking up from his desk. "Take a seat."
I perch on the edge of the faux-leather chair, my palms sweaty, my heart thumping against my ribs like it's trying to break free.
"Ben," he starts, finally locking eyes with me, "you're suspended, effective immediately."
"Wait, what?" I blurt out, a punch to my gut would've hurt less. They're grounding me? My wings are clipped? "Is this because?—"
"Because of the scandal, yes," he cuts me off. My career, my identity as Captain Ben, up in smoke, but I don’t even give a fuck about that.
All I care about is Kate.
Losing my job stings like a bitch, but losing Kate? That'd be a freefall without a parachute.
Kate
"Damn you, internet," I mutter under my breath, scrolling through the endless sea of hatred on my phone. Every swipe feels like a new cut, each comment another slice into my already battered heart.
They sting more than I ever thought words could. I'm tough. I've taken hits before, but this? It's relentless.
Why does the public think I belong to them? That I’m not allowed to have a life of my own?
"Fuck them," I say to no one, wishing I felt as brave as the words sound. I toss the phone onto the bed, watching it bounce—too much energy, like my racing thoughts. My thoughts that keep circling back to one question.
How is Ben taking this?
Me? I’m used to this bullshit, but poor Ben. He has to deal with all this just because of me.
I stand, pacing the room restlessly, feeling his name like a mantra in my mind. Ben. My pilot. My...what? What does this mess make us?
He's always been the steady hand on the throttle, the calm in any storm we flew through. But now? Now we're both stuck in a nosedive with no clear way out.
"Ben," I repeat, closing my eyes, imagining his strong arms, the way they felt wrapped around me. Safe. Secure. Home.
I need him. More than I've ever admitted, more than I've ever needed anyone. And the thought of him out there regretting getting involved with me is enough to shatter my already fractured spirit.
The pristine white table feels like a cold slab of marble underneath my tapping fingers. Across from me, the publicist—a man with a perpetually furrowed brow—shuffles through papers while my agent, her lips pursed in concentration, scrolls on her tablet. The air between us is charged with electricity, each spark a word unsaid, a strategy unformed.
"Kate, darling, we need to consider a charity event," my publicist says, his tone as rehearsed as his every other sentence. "Something for...I don’t know, stray animals or...sick children. People eat that stuff up."
"Stray animals or sick children?" I snap back, my patience fraying at the edges. "They're not PR tools, they're living beings with actual needs!"
"Of course, you're right," my agent interjects smoothly, ever the diplomat. "What Thomas means is we should align with a cause close to your heart, something genuine."
"Everything feels so far from genuine right now," I mutter, raking a hand through my hair. My heart's cause is currently being blocked by every conceivable digital wall and personal boundary.
