Clause 13: Do Not Fall in Love

1
When Lucas Hart came back from a call, I was pulling on the dress that had just been tossed to the floor.

He glanced at me. [Heading out?]

I nodded. [It’s still early. I’m going back to sleep.]

I lived right below him.

Work had been brutal these past years, and stress wrecked my sleep; I could never fall asleep with someone next to me.

So going our separate ways afterward was normal.

Lucas didn’t sense anything off. He nodded, reached for the lighter on the side table, and lit up.

He let out the first stream of smoke and finally spoke. [Lena Reed, let’s end this.]

[Tara Sutton confessed to me. She’s liked me for three years. I want to give it a real try.]

Sweat still clung to my skin. I froze, cool to the point of frightening.

[Three years?]

[Surprised too?] His smile turned soft.

[She said she was my fan, that she entered this industry because of me. Getting this far this fast cost her a lot.]

He turned on the night light, his gaze shadowed as it slid over me.

[You’re my manager and my best partner. I don’t want this to ruin what we have.]

I answered without fuss. [Got it.]

He exhaled in relief. [Consider tonight a keepsake. From now on, we’re just coworkers.]

I grabbed my bag from the floor. [It’s late. I’m leaving. And I haven’t taken a real vacation in years. You don’t have any gigs this week—I’m taking some PTO.]

He looked at me and dipped his chin. [Approved.]

On my way past the living room, I saw the trophy sitting on the entry console.

It had been Golden Screen Festival night, and at twenty-eight, Lucas Hart had taken home Best Actor.

After the party, I drove him back.

We lost control; the trophy was left by the door, and we never even made it to the bedroom.

I sighed, opened the door, and left without looking back.

He didn’t know it.

The moment I sensed something off between him and Tara Sutton, I’d already planned to dump him.

Just now, I had turned down an invite from my sweet troublemaker.

I dialed Zane Wilder.

He sounded drowsy, voice rough with sleep. [Babe, why are you calling this late?]

[Cut the chatter. Come over and let me feel those abs so I can calm down.]

2
When I came out of the shower, Zane Wilder was already shirtless on the sofa.

The face needed no commentary, and the gym did the rest.

Eight neat bricks, the kind of abs carved like the Greek statues I loved to stare at.

I pounced and let my hands have their fun first.

[In a hurry, aren’t we?] He caught my hand as it moved lower, breath turning shallow.

[Is this the whole plan for tonight?]

Lately, when I called Zane over, I only touched his abs, smacked my lips in regret, and sent him home.

Every time he left with his eyes rimmed red and a lace camisole from my closet.

But tonight was different.

Lucas had said it—he and I weren’t a couple.

[You’ve basically stolen my lingerie,] I traced the muscles down his chest, [so don’t leave tonight.]

He paused, heat darkening his eyes. [You said it.]

He was young, all tight muscle.

He nuzzled me like a puppy and still managed to feed my ego.

I couldn’t help thinking this was how life was supposed to feel.

Then he stilled.

His fingers brushed the red marks on my collarbone, his voice unreadable.

[You already ate. Still hungry?]

3
…They were Lucas Hart’s.

I felt a twinge of guilt, but not much.

[Because it wasn’t a good meal,] I said.

It wasn’t a lie.

Lucas was older, forever schmoozing at dinners, barely seeing the gym.

He kept his figure by starving.

Three minutes later, what difference did it make?

Zane’s voice turned low as he eased me back. [I’ll make you picky.]

My recklessness met his pushback.

Such a young body.

Hard as a diamond.

My phone rang. It was Lucas.

I was about to hang up when Zane slid to accept and pressed the phone to my ear.

[You—ah!] He did it on purpose.

[What are you doing?] Lucas asked, thrown off.

[The elliptical,] I said.

[At this hour?]

I bit down hard on any sound that wanted out. [If there’s nothing else, I’m hanging up.]

I had never used that tone with Lucas, but this was a special situation.

He went quiet, then finally spoke after a beat. [Open the door first.]

4
I froze.

Lucas Hart was outside my door?

Zane Wilder hissed under his breath, then let out a muffled laugh and bent to murmur at my neck. [Babe, I can’t move.]

[I can’t move either,] I blurted.

Lucas went quiet.

After a beat, he sighed. [You’re mad about what I said earlier? Lena Reed, I’ve thought it through. Even if I start seeing Tara Sutton, it won’t affect what we have. We’re not married. If you’re not married, you’re free.]

I glanced at the call recording I’d somehow toggled on.

Zane slowed. I looked back, confused.

The corners of his eyes dipped, something dark and pained flickering through them.

Sharp features that usually read dangerous turned wounded the moment he looked at me.

He could at least stop before playing the injured puppy.

[I’m going to pass,] I told Lucas.

He stalled. [Why?]

[You’re older. You don’t satisfy me.]

I hung up.

Zane’s eyes lit up. His hand traced my waist. [Babe… does that mean I don’t have to sneak off with your camisoles anymore?]

I pinched his cheek. [Depends on whether you can keep me satisfied.]

…

Afterward, my legs were jelly, and Zane carried me into the shower.

He was young, tireless, and careful, and it made me think maybe we could go long-term.

Apparently, that wasn’t the kind of long-term he had in mind.

[Have you thought about what I asked? Come work with me.]

My lighter paused. [You’re bringing up work now?]

He wrapped an arm around my waist, coaxing. [It popped into my head. Besides, you’re the most professional manager I know.]

I blew a smoke ring, a smile edging into something dry. [No professional manager sleeps with her own artist. If you want opportunities or money, I can give you what I can. When we’re done, we end clean. We’re adults. Seeing each other once in a while works just fine.]

His tone was unreadable. [So generous of you.]

The next second, anger flared in his eyes as he pulled me onto him. [Then use me, Babe. You paid for it, after all.]

5
I had paid.

Keeping Zane Wilder had been an accident.

I first met him four years ago at an industry dinner.

He was a freshman at the Metro City Conservatory of Drama, tucked into the most forgettable corner of the table.

I still spotted him at once.

Beyond the looks, there was something electric about him.

Youth and danger lived in the same face, features deep-cut and feral, like a leading man from an old Crown Isle film.

I’d been in this business long enough to trust my eye.

He was born to blow up.

That night I drank myself sick trying to land a film role for Lucas, heaving bile over a trash can.

Zane stepped out of a private room for air.

Cigarette at his lip, he gave me a puzzled look. [You’d go this hard for someone else’s career. Is it worth it?]

The second time I saw him was more than two years later at a karaoke bar.

It was an industry get-together, and he happened to be there.

He remembered me and tipped me a smile.

Most of the room was investors and producers.

I assumed he was someone’s boy toy and felt a stab of disappointment.

People who bow to the casting couch carry a ticking bomb; they either win it all or crash and burn.

What a waste of a perfect hand.

I was wrong about him.

That night, Mr. Grant slipped something into Zane’s drink to force his hand.

After a few rounds, I don’t know what possessed me, but I insisted on taking Zane away.

Mr. Grant’s face went dark, but he couldn’t make a scene.

Lucas was red-hot then, and everyone needed to keep up appearances.

It was winter.

When we stepped into the cold, the wind shocked Zane out of his fevered haze.

His eyes were shadowed as he looked at me. [If I’ve offended Mr. Grant because of this, is it worth it?]

There it was again—[Is it worth it?]

The alcohol had me dizzy, but that question sobered me in a snap and sent a cold sweat down my spine.

All I could hear was that line: worth it?

I thought of Lucas.

Years back, he’d faced the same thing.

I’d called in favors to pull him out and taken him to the ER.

The chaos of that night still lived in me.

Zane groaned, flushed and stubbornly playing it cool. [Babe, compared to Mr. Grant, I wouldn’t mind if something happened with you.]

I shoved him away. [Don’t. I would mind.]

I put him in a cab, took him to the hospital, ordered a stomach pump and fluids, and let him crush my hand all night.

I didn’t leave until I knew he was okay.

For days afterward, panic rode me—about my job, and about Mr. Grant making life hard for Lucas.

To my surprise, when I saw Mr. Grant later, he never mentioned it and treated me with exaggerated politeness.

Only then did I breathe.

The third time I ran into Zane was just recently.

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