She gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to shake it all loose. Every problem had a solution. That was what she’d built her career on. But today, with virtually no sleep, she couldn’t see the path forward, and that terrified her.

  By the time she pulled into the hotel parking lot, her shoulders ached from tension. The sunlight glinted on the windows of the lobby, but it didn’t bring comfort. She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror before going inside. Her eyes looked tired, makeup smudged at the corners. Not the polished professional the label expected. Not the look she wanted to present to Jami. Now more than ever, she needed to be strong.

  She climbed the stairs to her room, heels tapping a slow rhythm on the old wood. Each step echoed the same thought. You shouldn’t have let him in.

  When she unlocked the door and stepped inside, the silence was deafening. No ringing phones, no notifications, no one asking for her advice. For the first time in days, she was alone.

  She set her laptop bag on the desk and stood there, staring at it. Her whole life lived in that machine, every campaign, every win, every sleepless night spent fixing someone else’s disaster. It was supposed to make her feel safe. But right now, all it represented was the mess she was in.

  Carlene kicked off her shoes, letting them fall beside the bed, and sat down. Her hands trembled slightly. She had held it together for so long that her body didn’t seem to know what to do now that she didn’t have to.

  At first, it was just one tear. Then another.

  Then the dam broke.

  She folded forward, elbows on her knees, and cried. Deep, shaking sobs that left her gasping for breath. Tears hit her palms and soaked the fabric of her slacks. Every ounce of frustration, fear, and exhaustion poured out at once. The sabotage, the public scrutiny, the sleepless nights, and the one mistake she hadn’t meant to make. And didn't know how she'd not make it again.

  She cried for all of it.

  When there were no tears left, she sat there breathing hard, staring at the floor. Her chest hurt. Her eyes burned. She pressed a cold washcloth against her face, then dropped it to the floor and laughed bitterly through the last of the tears.

  “Get it together,” she whispered.

  She stood, picked up the washcloth, and walked to the mirror. Her reflection didn’t look like the woman she’d trained herself to be. Her hair had fallen out of its clip, her mascara had smudged, and her eyes were swollen. But worse than that was what she saw in them, vulnerability.

  That was what she hated most.

  She’d spent years making sure no one could ever see her weak. Not after what Reed & Carr had done to her. She could still remember standing in that sterile conference room while her old boss called her reckless for questioning a client’s ethics. The dressing down she'd taken in front of her entire team at Reed & Carr still made her heart race. Her cheeks burned with the memory, making her sweat. Humiliation had become embedded in her bones. She’d sworn never to let anyone have that kind of power over her again.

  Until Jami.

  She grabbed the edge of the sink, fingers digging into the porcelain. “You knew better,” she whispered. “You knew exactly what this was.”

  He wasn’t just another client. Somewhere between the first late-night planning session and the quiet moments in the barn, he had become something else. Someone she thought about when she shouldn’t. Someone she trusted when she didn’t trust anyone.

  Her reflection stared back, defiant now. “You’re not falling for him,” she said, her voice low but sharp. “You can’t.”

  She pushed away from the mirror and paced the room, bare feet whispering across the carpet. The anger felt better than the tears. It steadied her.

  Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She froze when she saw his name.

  Jami.

  Her heart gave a painful lurch, and for a moment she almost reached for it. She wanted to hear his voice, to believe the comfort she felt with him wasn’t just another illusion. But she knew better.

  She let it ring.

  When it stopped, the silence settled heavier than before.

  Carlene walked to the window and drew the curtains aside. The world outside was bright and sparkly, the sun reflecting through the window and across the field, wavering lines. A couple walked along the street, holding hands, their laughter faint but clear.

  She wrapped her arms around herself and stared out at the scene. She’d never been good at this part, letting anyone close. It always ended the same way. Someone left. Someone disappointed her. Someone proved that love was a distraction she couldn’t afford.

  She thought she’d buried that part of herself for good.

  But today, standing in the sliver of sun streaming through her window, she couldn’t deny what Jami Hart had done to her. His voice still echoed in her head, rough and sincere, the way he’d said she didn’t deserve to take the hit. The way he’d looked at her like she was more than the hired PR firm.

  Her pulse quickened just thinking about it.

  She pressed her forehead against the warm glass and whispered, “Enough.”

  The word felt thin and fragile. She said it again, firmer this time. “Enough.”

  Tomorrow she’d wake up and rebuild her armor. She’d meet with Tony and the label, polish the next phase of the campaign, and pretend the last few days hadn’t cracked her open.

  She would go back to being the woman who fixed everything.

  But right now, she let herself feel the full weight of what she had been holding back. The longing. The exhaustion. The quiet heartbreak of knowing she wanted something she couldn’t have.

  When she finally crawled into bed, she didn’t bother undressing. She lay there staring at the ceiling until her vision blurred. The pillow beneath her head was damp from tears that continued to track down her temples, and her phone glowed faintly on the nightstand.

  She didn’t reach for it.

  Sleep came slowly, unevenly, and restlessly. But for the first time in years, she allowed herself to feel broken. And though it hurt, a small, defiant part of her hoped that maybe, just maybe, feeling something that real again meant she was still alive.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jami showed up at the barn before sunrise. The air was cool, heavy with salt and the faint scent of pine drifting in from the bluff. It should have calmed him, but it didn’t. His mind was a loop of questions he couldn’t answer and one face he couldn’t shake.

  Carlene.

  She’d left yesterday, holding herself together by a thread. He’d seen it in her eyes before she turned away, that careful restraint that told him she was barely hanging on. He’d wanted to go after her, but she needed space, and he respected that more than he wanted to.

  Now, staring across the empty barn, he wished he’d said something before she left. Something that wasn’t about the label or the press. Something real.

  He poured coffee from the pot and leaned against the bar. His phone buzzed with another update from the label’s PR team. Every headline looked the same: Carlene’s name, his name, the words damage control.

  He scrolled until he couldn’t stand it anymore, tossed the phone on the bar, and grabbed his guitar instead. The strings felt cool under his fingers. He started playing the riff that had been haunting him for days, soft and slow, letting the rhythm settle the chaos in his head.

  By the time the others arrived, the sun had broken over the bluff. Tony came in first, followed by Bret from the label. Both carried that look he’d come to know too well, cautious optimism.

  “Morning,” Tony said. “Carlene texted. She’s on her way.”

  Jami nodded and set the guitar aside. “Is she holding up?”

  Tony hesitated. “You know Carlene. She’ll walk into a fire if that’s what it takes to get the job done.”

  “That’s not an answer,” Jami said quietly.

  Tony gave a half-smile. “No, it’s not.”

  Ten minutes later, Carlene’s car pulled up outside. She walked in with her laptop bag slung over one shoulder, hair pulled back, face pale but composed. The professional version of her was back, armor polished, voice steady. Only her eyes betrayed her, shadowed from lack of sleep.

  Jami met her halfway across the barn floor. “Morning.”

  “Morning,” she said, her tone brisk. “Let’s get started.”

  She brushed past him to set up at the bar, her fingers moving with purpose. He watched her for a second longer than he should have, then forced himself to focus.

  The meeting with the label began a few minutes later via video call. Vivian and Mason appeared on separate screens, looking tired but alert. Bret handled the connections while Tony filled them in on Carlene’s latest findings.

  She presented the evidence calmly, walking them through the data trail that tied Reed & Carr to the altered files. Her voice didn’t shake once. Watching her work was like watching precision in motion. She had that same quiet confidence she used when she believed in something completely.

  Vivian asked hard questions. Mason offered measured warnings. Through it all, Carlene stood firm. She’d built her proof, and it was solid.

  When Vivian finally said, “All right, Carlene, we’ll move forward with your plan,” Jami exhaled for what felt like the first time all morning.

  The call ended, and the room slowly emptied as Bret and Tony stepped outside to make phone calls. Jami stayed behind, watching Carlene type something on her laptop.

  “You didn’t tell them about the cease and desist,” he said.

  “I’ll forward it once the logs finish pulling,” she said without looking up.

  “You got one too, didn’t you?”

  She paused, then nodded. “It’s intimidation. Nothing more.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.” She closed the laptop and looked up at him. “They’re scared, Jami. Scared people make mistakes. I’m counting on that.”

  He smiled faintly. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

  Her lips twitched. “That’s good advice.”

  Silence settled again, thicker this time. He could see the exhaustion in the curve of her shoulders, the tension around her mouth.

  “You look like you didn’t sleep,” he said softly.

  She laughed without humor. “You try drafting a legal rebuttal and a PR plan in the same night.”

  “I’d rather write a song.”

  “Exactly.”

  He stepped closer. “You don’t have to carry this by yourself.”

  She straightened, chin lifting slightly. “It’s my job.”

  “Your job is keeping the story clean, not taking all the hits.”

  “Someone has to.”

  “Not alone,” he said, firmer.

  Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air shifted between them. He wanted to reach for her, to tell her he’d been thinking about her since she walked out last night, but he stayed where he was. She was wound too tight, and if he touched her now, she might break, or worse, he might.

  Tony’s voice broke the quiet from outside. “Vivian’s on board. We go live tomorrow at ten!”

  Carlene exhaled. “One more fire handled.”

  He studied her face. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I will be.” She grabbed her bag. “I need to get back to the hotel and pull a few more files before lunch.”

  He moved toward the door before she could. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “Not necessary.”

  “Humor me.”

  She sighed but didn’t argue. They walked side by side across the gravel drive. The morning sun caught her hair, turning it burnished gold at the edges. She looked tired, but there was a kind of grace in her exhaustion, something human and real.

  At her car, she hesitated with the keys in her hand. “Thanks for not losing your cool in there. I know this isn’t what you signed up for.”

  He gave a small smile. “I signed up for music. The rest just came with it.”

  “You handled it well.”

  “So did you.”

  “Barely,” she said.

  He wanted to tell her he saw through the mask, that he knew she was hurting, that he’d do anything to take some of it off her shoulders. Instead, he said, “Get some sleep tonight.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Try harder.”

  Her eyes softened for a heartbeat, and then she got in the car. “See you tomorrow.”

  He stepped back as she drove away, watching the car disappear down the road until it was gone.

  For a long time, he stood there, hands in his pockets, the sound of the ocean filling the space she’d left behind.

  He knew she was strong enough to handle whatever came next. But knowing that didn’t stop the pull in his chest, the quiet ache that told him strength wasn’t what she needed most right now.

  What she needed was someone who saw her, really saw her, when she wasn’t performing for the world.

  And God help him, he wanted to be that person.

  He turned back toward the barn. The others would be waiting, and there was work to do, but his mind stayed on her, the woman who’d walked into his life to fix his reputation and somehow made him want to rewrite every part of it instead.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Carlene sat cross-legged on the bed with her laptop propped on a pillow, half a sandwich beside her, and a headache that wouldn’t quit. She’d told herself she would rest when the audit finished, but rest felt impossible. The hum of her computer was the only sound in the room.

  Her inbox was a battlefield. Messages from the label, the legal team, Tony, and now a new one from an address she didn’t recognize. The subject line read: You don’t know the half of it.

  Her pulse jumped. She hovered over it, debating. Opening anonymous emails was risky, but curiosity won.

  Inside was a short message. They’re deleting the originals. Look at drive R_C-9825. If you want proof, move fast.

  Attached was a screenshot of a file directory, a timestamp, and one word typed beneath it...Soon.

  She sat back, heart thudding. Someone inside Reed & Carr was warning her. Or baiting her.

  Her first instinct was to call Tony, but she stopped. He’d loop in the label, and by the time the lawyers finished talking, the evidence would be gone. She needed to move quietly.

  Carlene typed quickly, launching the forensic software she’d installed earlier. She copied the directory into the search path and hit enter. The progress bar crawled, each percent taking too long.

  Her phone buzzed.

  Jami:

  You eat yet?

  She smiled faintly despite herself.

  Barely. You?

  Coffee counts, right?

  No, it doesn’t.

  Then I’ll make you a deal. I eat, you sleep.

  Not happening. Got a lead.

  Want help?

  She stared at the words. He meant it, she knew he did, but the thought of pulling him deeper into her mess made her stomach twist.

  Just focus on the music, Jami. I’ve got this.

  He didn’t reply right away. Then her phone buzzed again.

  You don’t have to keep proving that. I already know.

  Her throat tightened. She stared at the screen until it dimmed, then set it face down on the bed. He had no idea how close to the truth that cut. She’d been proving herself for so long she’d forgotten what it felt like not to.

  A soft chime from her laptop pulled her back. The scan finished. The directory was real. And so were the deletion requests, all queued to wipe at midnight.

  “Not a chance,” she murmured.

  She launched a data capture, redirecting the files to a secure mirror drive. The progress bar climbed slowly. Too slowly.

  Her nerves buzzed. She walked to the kitchenette, grabbed the last of the cold coffee, and drank it straight from the cup. The bitterness grounded her.

  The mirror finished. She checked the transfer logs twice, then zipped the files and sent them to her offsite backup. Her stomach unclenched only when she saw the green check mark.

  It was done.

  The adrenaline that had kept her upright started to fade, replaced by exhaustion. She sat back against the headboard, the weight of the last few days pressing down all at once.

  Her phone vibrated again.

  A text from Tony this time.

  Vivian says great work today. She’s impressed.

  Carlene smiled faintly. She didn’t care about Vivian’s approval. What she wanted was for this to be over, for the story to shift back to where it belonged, on the music.

  Her gaze drifted toward her phone again. She wanted to text Jami to tell him she’d pulled another thread in the web Reed & Carr had spun. To hear him say something simple and warm that would ease the edge of her loneliness.

  Instead, she opened her notebook and jotted down every detail of the email, the server, and the timestamp. Work first. Always work first.

  Still, her mind wouldn’t stay quiet. She thought about the way he’d looked at her that morning, steady and concerned, his voice softer than it should’ve been when he told her she didn’t have to do this alone.

  The words had stayed with her.

  She closed her eyes for a moment. The sounds of traffic outside came faintly through the cracked window, the rhythm slow and familiar. For the first time since she’d left Miami, she let herself wonder what it would be like to stop running on adrenaline and actually let someone in.

  Her phone buzzed one last time.

  Jami:

  Goodnight, Carlene. Don’t forget to breathe.