Boots
The moment Wendy rounds the corner, Boots is up. A glance through the glass, then she slips out the opposite way. Straight to Leah’s office.
“Boots,” Leah says, looking up from the manuscript, voice lowering as she registers the tension. “Everything okay?”
“I need your opinion,” Boots replies, not bothering to close the door. “It’s about the proposal. We got our first offer.”
“Congrats.”
“Twenty-five. From Pegasus.”
“Yikes.”
“Exactly. And Wendy’s trying to spin it like it’s some big opportunity.”
Leah sets the manuscript down, eyes narrowing slightly, like she’s weighing the cost of being direct. “Honestly? If I were you, I’d pull it.”
“Pull it?”
“Put it on pause. Take a month. Focus on your platform. Beef up your socials, reframe the messaging, then resubmit.”
“And how exactly do I ‘beef up’ my socials?”
“That’s where Darin comes in. I’ve been thinking… You two should team up for an event.” She gestures with two fingers like she’s directing a chess move. “He’s a branding wizard. If you collaborate, cross-promote, and get him involved with strategy, that could be big. Your numbers could jump fast.”
“What if I put him on the committee for the NDA Inaugural Gala?”
“Boots. That’s genius. I’d have to run it by his team—Darin can be hard to pin down—but my gut says he might go for it. This could be the perfect chance to show him what NDA can do for him.”
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“And if we play it right,” Boots says, eyes flickering with possibility, “it might even convince him to sign with NDA officially. With you as his agent.”
Leah leans back slowly, eyes gleaming as the wheels turn. “I like the way you think.”
The sun’s dipped low, casting a golden wash over the nearly empty parking lot. She’s halfway to her car when his voice comes from behind—
“Boots.”
She turns. Alan’s approaching, reflective aviators flashing gold in the dying light.
“Working late?” she asks. Fuck, he’s sexy.
“Always.” He grins, smooth as ever, silver fox confidence on full display.
“Let me guess. You sleep here too?”
“Only when I need a reason to avoid going home.”
“Home… to a wife?”
“We divorced years ago, lucky for you.”
She hears herself laugh—too loud, too flirty. Ugh. I’m the worst.
“I was wondering if you’d want to grab a drink,” he says. “Talk more about our inaugural event, which, technically, isn’t inaugural anymore, thanks to Wendy’s influencer pop-up last week.”
Boots smiles, just a little bit naughty. “A touch-base sounds great. But just you and me over a drink? That sounds… mildly inappropriate.”
“Maybe. But not unappealing.”
“You realize this is, like, an HR violation waiting to happen?”
“Only if you report me.”
Part of her—okay, most of her—loves this. But she’s not about to become anyone’s HR case study. Especially not with the CEO.
“You know,” she says, stepping back, playing unimpressed, “you almost had me. But I have a rule about mixing office politics with tequila.”
“That a hard no? Or… what if we made it whiskey?”
“A soft maybe.” She clears her throat, recalibrating. “But thank you, all the same.”
Should’ve shut him down harder, she thinks, once Alan’s gone, unlocking her Alfa Romeo with a chirp. But there’s something about his swagger. Yeah, she’s interested. Just not stupid.
She lingers a second too long behind the wheel. Then: fuck it. She hits the gas, roaring off into the burning spill of the California sunset.