"The car is here, sir."
Bill barely registered the voice until he looked up and saw his assistant, Lisa, standing just outside the lobby doors. Her hand was subtly pointing ahead, her expression unreadable but her eyes carrying the quiet urgency she knew he needed. Outside, the black Toyota Camry idled at the curb, the Uber they'd ordered already waiting.
He gave a faint nod, lips pressed tightly together, and followed her out.
"Sir, let's go," she said gently, trying to coax him forward without drawing attention to the emotions storming behind his cool exterior.
The door shut behind them with a soft thud, and as they slid into the back seat, the driver gave a courteous glance through the rearview mirror. He was a middle-aged man, polite, composed, his voice neutral as he spoke.
"Hi. Can we start going?"
Lisa, ever the professional, responded with a polite smile. "Oh yes, please. To the airport—"
But she was cut off by a sudden, violent outburst from the seat beside her.
"Fuck! Shit!"
Bill's voice exploded in the small space, raw and visceral. The driver flinched, his hands tightening on the wheel in alarm. Lisa jerked around in surprise, her eyes wide as she stared at her boss—Bill Miller, the unflappable dealmaker, the man who always kept his composure—now unraveling right beside her.
Bill's jaw was clenched, his hands gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles had gone white. His expression was bitter, tight, as though something sour had taken root in his chest.
"I can't believe they didn't agree!" he spat, eyes dark and filled with disbelief. He shook his head slowly, muttering more to himself than to anyone else, "I was so sure. Did I do too much? Was I too aggressive?"
The air in the car thickened. The driver gave Lisa a wary glance through the mirror—he wasn't paid enough for this kind of ride. Lisa offered him a strained smile and leaned forward slightly.
"Sorry about him," she said quickly, lowering her voice in an attempt to soothe both the driver and the situation. "We just got some... bad news. Please, go ahead. Don't mind us."
The driver gave a hesitant nod, his lips thinning as he turned his eyes back to the road. Still, his shoulders were tense. He looked like a man who'd prefer to be anywhere else.
Bill was still spiraling.
"Maybe I did ask for too much," he murmured, his voice more hollow now. "Maybe I should've taken it. Said yes and pushed for more later."
Lisa turned toward him, watching the weight of disappointment crush him in real time. His usual confidence had evaporated, replaced with guilt, second-guessing, and something dangerously close to despair.
"But it's true," he added, as if fighting himself. "Ethan deserves better. He deserves better."
Lisa leaned closer, her tone firm, reassuring. "Yes, Bill. You're right. It's not your fault. You did what you believed was right—for Ethan. You weren't being greedy. You were protecting him. You were asking for what he's worth, and what they offered... it wasn't even close. You stood up for him when it counted. That's not something to regret."
He turned his head slowly toward her, as if trying to let her words in—but they didn't ease the tightness in his chest. The guilt had already begun to settle in like concrete.
He exhaled a long, heavy breath, resting the back of his head against the seat. When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost broken.
"That's the thing," he said. "It shouldn't have been my choice."
Those words hung in the air like a confession. Lisa blinked, caught off guard.
Bill's mind raced as he stared blankly at the window, his reflection looking back at him like a stranger.
If he had said yes to the deal…
Ethan would be six million dollars richer per year. The global face of Coca-Cola. Backed by one of the biggest marketing machines in the world. Grammy campaigns would've had a massive corporate push. More clout. More visibility. More reach.
It was everything an artist could dream of. And he—Bill—had turned it down.
Because he thought Ethan deserved more.
Or maybe, just maybe, because he wanted to prove a point.
He let out a bitter, humorless chuckle that never reached his eyes.
"What if I just blew it all up?" he said, his voice strained. "What if I just let my pride—my ego—cost him everything?"
Lisa reached out, hesitated, then gently placed a hand on his arm. "Bill... you didn't do this for yourself."
He didn't respond. Just closed his eyes and leaned deeper into the seat, as though wishing the ride would never end.
The city blurred past the windows, but Bill barely noticed. His mind was already at the airport, on the plane, and ultimately, in front of Ethan—trying to find the words to tell him that the deal was gone. That Coca-Cola had walked. That the doors he had promised might now be closed.
Lisa glanced at him again, concern etched all over her face. She could see the cracks in him now. The regret. The fear. The crushing weight of being responsible not just for a career—but for a future.
The driver kept his eyes forward, jaw tight, hands at ten and two, pretending not to hear every painful word that passed between the two in the backseat.
And in that silent car hurtling toward the airport, Bill Miller sat with the full burden of a decision that he wasn't sure was right anymore.
But deep down, past the doubt and the guilt and the anger—there was a flicker of something else.
Conviction.
Because even if Ethan hated him for it, even if he'd made the biggest mistake of his career, Bill had done it for one reason.
He believed Ethan Jones was worth more than what they were offering.
And maybe—just maybe—someday, Ethan would see that too.
Meanwhile, while Bill wrestled with his own demons in the backseat of that Uber, Ethan was fighting a storm of his own.
Inside his private trailer, the air was thick with tension. Ethan sat on the plush leather couch, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, nervously bouncing his right leg. He'd just chased everyone out—the staff, Rebecca, and Bella—all with awkward looks exchanged between them. Now it was just him… and Sydney.
She stood a few feet away from him, arms loosely folded, her bag dangling from one shoulder, her expression unreadable. Her presence made the whole room feel smaller, tighter, as if the air had shrunk to just the space between them.
"So…" Ethan said.
"So?" she echoed, her brows raising slightly, her voice low and skeptical.
It was stupid. That was all he could muster? "So?"
He scratched the back of his neck and forced a nervous chuckle. "So… uh, I thought you were shooting a movie?"
Sydney sighed, visibly annoyed but trying to keep calm. "Yeah. I was. We wrapped the shoot two days ago. I'm on a short break now."
"Oh," Ethan replied, nodding too much. "Cool, cool…"
There was a pause. The kind that makes your heart race because something is definitely brewing.
"Which is why I called you yesterday," she added, her tone shifting from casual to slightly aggressive, then mellowing again like she was trying not to lose her temper. "But I guess you were too busy."
Ethan flinched slightly at the tone. "Ah. Yeah. My phone died…" he mumbled. "That's why I didn't see it."
"Since yesterday?" Sydney said with disbelief.
"I had a show," Ethan said quickly. "Right after that I crashed, passed out on the bed—I was out cold. And this morning I had back-to-back interviews. They just left, and I was actually coming out to text you."
Sydney let out a short, humorless laugh and looked away. "Right. Of course."
"Look, I'm sorry—really."
But she wasn't done. "And the texts? About the party? About all that stuff?" Her voice wasn't loud, but it cut deep.
Ethan opened his mouth to speak but hesitated. "About those…"
Before he could explain, she sighed and shook her head as if scolding herself more than him. "What am I even doing?"
"Pardon?" he asked.
"I mean… it's not like you owe me an explanation, right?" she said, eyes fixed on a random spot on the floor.
"Sydney, wait—"
"I mean, it's not like we're—" she paused.
"We're what?" Ethan leaned in slightly, confused, wanting clarity.
But Sydney just shook her head. "Never mind. This was a mistake. I shouldn't have come."
She grabbed her bag and turned toward the door, panic creeping into her movements, her voice unraveling fast. "I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry for just barging in—"
"Wait—what? No, no, Sydney, hold on!" Ethan jumped to his feet, reaching out.
She was halfway to the door when he caught her by the wrist, gently but firmly pulling her back. She jerked slightly in surprise, turning—and suddenly, there they were, face to face.
Close. Too close.
So close Sydney could feel the warmth of him, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, the faint scent of cologne and adrenaline blending into the air between them. Her heart pounded, her breath hitching as her eyes darted from his eyes to his lips and back.
Ethan held her hand tightly, his voice steady now—calmer, deeper. The nervousness from earlier vanished, like it had been shaken off in a single moment of clarity.
"I know this might not be what we both planned," he began, his voice low, sincere, every word soaking in meaning, "and maybe this isn't the perfect time or the perfect setting… but I'm really, really glad you're here."
Sydney's lips parted slightly, but she didn't speak.
"And why would you ever think you don't deserve an explanation?" Ethan continued, eyes locked on hers. "You deserve everything. You deserve honesty. Time. Answers. Effort. You deserve all of that and more."
He stepped in closer, their bodies nearly touching now. "I want to tell you everything, Sydney. I want to explain, to talk, to listen. Because you matter. A lot more than you think."
Her eyes shimmered slightly, as if she wasn't expecting all this. As if the Ethan standing in front of her now wasn't the same one who barely said "so" a few minutes ago.
"I'm not letting you walk out thinking this was some mistake," he said. "Please… just stay."
And then, without waiting for permission—because something in her eyes told him he didn't need it—Ethan pulled her gently into a hug. His arms wrapped around her waist, warm and secure, as if he wanted to shield her from the storm of misunderstandings and distance that had crept in.
Sydney froze for a moment, caught off guard. But then she melted into him, resting her head on his chest. She could feel his heart, fast and steady. She closed her eyes, inhaled, smiled.
"…Okay," she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt. "I'll stay."
Ethan held her tighter, and for the first time that day, everything finally felt right.
Author's NoteThere's an important vote currently live on my Patreon regarding the addition of R-18 scenes. You're welcome to head over and cast your vote! While you're there, feel free to subscribe if you'd like early access to upcoming chapters, as well as exclusive access to my other books—some already uploaded, others still on the way.Thank you![Link below]
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