Born To Be More

In full color

Raine

I’m so thankful for the last two days I had to settle into my apartment. The building is fantastic, and I’ve already decided I’ll be a regular at the gym. I found this adorable little café down the street that makes the most beautiful chocolate croissants, and there’s a park just across the way that seems to be the epicenter of mum fitness groups. A real hive of activity.

Today’s the day—I start my new job.

I’m being picked up at 8 a.m., so naturally, I’ve been up since 5 trying to figure out what the hell to wear. I finally settle on a shift dress, knee-high boots, and my trusty leather jacket. A knock at my door tells me it’s go-time. I grab my phone and bag and open the door to find Caine waiting.

“Morning, Caine.”

“Coffee,” he says, holding out a cup like an offering from the gods.

“Yes. Perfect. Thank you.” I take it gratefully.

“Alright, so—have you had a chance to look over your itinerary?” he asks as I sip. “You’ve got a full-on schedule, but I’ll walk you through it this week. Then we’ll look at hiring you an assistant.”

I choke slightly on my coffee.

“An assistant? What the hell would I need one of those for?”

He smirks.

“You’ll see, Raine. You’ll see. Let’s goooo,” he says, dragging the word out like some kind of whiny teenager. I roll my eyes and follow him out.

We weave through morning traffic for about ten minutes before he pulls into a spot outside a massive glass building. The gold cursive writing across the front reads Chic. It’s a towering, stunning structure—modern, sleek, and intimidating as hell.

A man in a suit opens my door, and as I step out, flashbulbs explode and people start yelling my name.

“Caine?!” I hiss, eyes wide.

He’s at my side in an instant, along with another man I don’t recognize.

“Smile, Raine. Walk quickly toward the foyer. I got you,” he says calmly, steering me toward the entrance.

What the actual f**k is happening?!

I smile awkwardly, trying to keep up appearances, and duck my head as we hustle through the front doors and into the foyer.

As soon as the lift doors close behind us, I spin on him.

“What the hell was that?” I whisper-yell, my heart still pounding.

Caine looks genuinely confused.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he admits. “But I’m going to find out.”

He presses the button for the 19th floor.

We step off the lift straight into a large gathering of people. Caine gently grabs my arm, halting my steps.

“Raine Marshall, everyone!”

The group bursts into applause. I stand there like a stunned mullet, blinking under the sudden attention. I manage a smile—because what else can I do? It’s my first day at work, and apparently, I’m walking into the spotlight.

“Welcome, Raine. We just wanted to make you feel at home here at Chic,” says a well-dressed man as he steps forward to shake my hand. “I’m Mr. Parkes. Come in and have some breakfast with the team.”

“Oh—thank you. This is… lovely,” I say politely, though in my head I’m screaming holy hell, this is wickedly overwhelming.

I’m introduced to a blur of names and faces—none of which I’ll remember unless someone wears a nametag with flashing lights. Right on cue, Caine appears at my side.

“Raine, meet my wife, Melissa.”

Melissa practically bounces with energy. “Hi, Raine! It is so great to meet you!”

She’s clearly the mastermind behind all this glitter and pastries. I wrap her in a hug, because that’s what us Kiwis do, and she squeals in delight.

“We’re going to be great friends,” she beams.

“Only if you can get him to quit with the dad jokes,” I shoot back, pointing to Caine.

Melissa snorts with laughter, drawing more attention to us.

“I told him not to lead with the lame jokes on your first day.”

“Hey,” Caine protests, holding up his hands. “Everyone loves my humor.”

A collective groan rolls through the room. I giggle, feeling slightly more at ease.

Caine leaves me in Melissa’s hands, and she eagerly leads me around the room, pointing out key staff and whispering gossip like we’ve been besties for years.

“Thank you for the amazing bathroom goodies,” I say when there’s a lull. “They were fabulous.”

“Oh, you’re welcome!” she beams. “As soon as I saw that bathtub, I knew you’d need the full spa treatment.”

I grin. “You weren’t wrong.”

Leaning in a little, I lower my voice. “So… what was with the cameras outside?”

Melissa rolls her eyes. “I don’t know, but Caine was pissed. He’s been on edge since you got here.”

Caine rejoins us just as I ask, “Did you find out about the media?”

He nods, frowning. “Yeah. Apparently someone leaked your arrival to the press.”

I raise a brow. “And… why would they care?”

He just looks at me, then exchanges a look with Melissa. Slowly, a big grin spreads across his face.

“You really don’t know how big of a deal it is to be chosen to work with Chic, do you?”

I shrug, honestly confused. “Well… I’m humbled. I know I’m lucky to be here.”

Caine and Melissa stare at me, bewildered.

“Raine,” Caine says finally, “we’re going to go over your contract this afternoon, and after that, we’re finding you an agent.”

Melissa claps her hands together. “I’ll make a list of the best ones for you to choose from. Only the best.”

I blink at them both, the realization sinking in.

“Um… okay. Christ, this is so much more than I expected.”

"Miss Marshall, Caine has informed me of the media outside. My sincere apologies—that should never have happened. We've tightened security and are actively looking into the leak," Mr. Parkes says, stepping up to our group.

"Thank you, Mr. Parkes. I appreciate that," I reply, trying to sound composed.

He nods and walks off toward an older man in a dark suit, someone who seems vaguely familiar. His warm smile meets mine from across the room, and when our eyes lock, he gives a slight nod. Oddly enough, the gesture makes me feel... safe. Which is weird, right?

After a light breakfast, Caine and Melissa begin showing me around the building. It’s all sleek lines and glass, everything dripping with understated luxury. We turn a corner and I stop dead in my tracks.

Permanently fixed to the wall is a full-length, floor-to-ceiling, high-resolution poster of me. Me—laughing, hair wet, eyes closed, splashing in the ocean. A massive Coming Soon sign is stamped across the top like I’m some highly anticipated event.

What the actual f**k?

I just stand there, staring. Who even approved that?

Caine and Melissa notice I’m no longer beside them and turn around.

Melissa grins. “It’s a nice picture. Now come on, superstar.”

I sigh and jog to catch up. This whole thing feels surreal. Like I somehow stepped into someone else's dream—and forgot to wake up.

This is all too much. I woke up excited, but now... I don't even know how I feel. Overwhelmed? Disoriented? Like I've walked into a life that looks like mine but feels way too big. I need to get a grip and figure out what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.

Caine and Melissa lead me to the HR department, then leave me to tackle the company induction solo. I’m issued yet another swipe card, sign a few documents for the staff portal, and fill in payment information for my contract. It’s all a blur of polite smiles and paperwork.

An hour later, I’m finally released for lunch. Thank god.

As soon as I step into the hallway, I check my phone—and my breath catches. A message from Max.

Max: Morning Angel. Can I call you? I’d like to discuss the details of our dinner date :)

My pulse kicks up as I tap out a quick reply:

Raine: Yes. Perfect timing.

I stare at the screen, smiling like a fool. I wasn’t sure I’d actually hear from him again. I mean, who was I to expect anything? But I’ve missed him.

Yeah, I know it’s weird. I’ve only just met him. But damn—he’s delicious, and there’s just... something about him that pulls me in like a tide I can’t fight.

My phone rings in my hand, snapping me out of my daydream. I yelp, fumbling with it like a hot potato, and—oh God—I drop it. In my panic to grab it, I swipe the screen and… ignore the call.

Fuck. I just ignored Max.

Before I can even spiral, the screen lights up again. He’s calling back. I scramble to answer, breathless.

"Hello?" I manage.

"Angel," he says, low and warm. Just my name—like a promise.

"Hi Max," I say, trying to sound casual. "How are you?"

"Lonely, without you drooling on my shoulder," he teases.

"Oh, perfect. Great way to start the call, Max," I mock, half mortified, half amused.

He laughs, then softens. "It’s lovely to hear your voice, Angel. I missed you."

He missed me? My stomach flips and my chest tightens. This man is dangerous.

"What are you doing tonight?" he asks.

"Oh, I’m going out on the town with the girls from work. Man hunting," I say sweetly.

He growls. Growls. "There will be no men for you, Angel. Only me."

Holy hell. That sound just made my thighs clench.

"Max, I have no plans tonight," I admit, voice softer now.

"You do now. Can I make you dinner, Angel?" he asks.

"You cook?" I raise a brow even though he can’t see it.

"Yes, actually. I happen to be a great cook. How about I come to yours and cook you dinner? Say… 7pm?"

"Okay… that sounds… good," I say, suddenly nervous but thrilled.

"Great. I’ll see you then, Angel." He hangs up.

I stare at the phone like it’s a magical object. I’m going to see Max tonight. He’s coming to my apartment. He’s cooking for me.

My kootchie starts salsa dancing.

And honestly? I kind of want to join her.

I head toward the lifts, scanning the floor for Caine, when I catch someone watching me from behind the reception desk. She's leaning over the counter, giving me a look that could curdle milk—up, down, and back again like she’s sizing up a threat. I roll my eyes. There’s always one, isn’t there? Like that passive-aggressive aunty at every family barbecue. Every company’s got a b***h, and I’m pretty sure I just found mine.

I barely make it three steps before I’m shoulder-checked hard. Folders fly, and the info pack from HR slips from my grasp, scattering papers across the hallway floor.

"b***h," I snap under my breath—but not low enough. She definitely hears me.

She huffs, flipping her hair over her shoulder like she’s on a soap opera. “You won’t last,” she spits before disappearing into a nearby office.

Charming.

A different woman from reception hurries over and crouches beside me, helping to scoop up the mess. “Please stay out of her way, Miss Marshall,” she says in a hushed voice. “I do.”

I blink. "Thank you," I reply, dusting off the folder and my pride.

As she hurries back to her desk, I sigh and pull out my phone, firing off a quick message to Caine:

Me: Got ambushed by fashion’s angriest chihuahua. Where am I meeting you?

I wait for Caine’s reply, then spot him stepping out of the lift with that familiar easygoing smile. “Come on, Raine. Let’s go take off your blinders,” he says cryptically.

Blinders? Okay...

As I follow him into the lift, I notice the receptionist giving him a look. He frowns at his phone but doesn’t say a word. I'm guessing she texted him about my hallway encounter with Chic's resident Queen b***h, but he’s playing it cool—for now.

We step into a sleek glass conference room. “Take a seat,” Caine says, gesturing toward the long table. “I had lunch brought in so we can go over the contract and review agents. I also compiled a shortlist of assistants I trust.”

I sit as Melissa wheels in a lunch trolley, grinning like we’ve been friends forever. “Here ya go. I’ll pop back later to make sure he hasn’t bored you to death,” she teases.

“Thanks, Melissa.” I smile back. Honestly, she’s sunshine in human form.

“Okay,” I say, cracking open the water bottle in front of me. “Let’s get started, Caine.”

He dives straight into the deep end. “Raine, you’re not just working with Chic—you are Chic’s face for the next two years. Billboards, TV campaigns, print, socials, digital—you name it. This campaign will run globally. Because of that, the brands will come hard and fast. Everyone will want a piece of what you're attached to.”

Holy s**t. I blink.

“That’s why you need an agent,” he continues. “One—so no work conflicts with your Chic obligations. Two—to make sure no one tries to screw you over. We all heard what happened with Shine.”

I nod, processing. “Okay, that makes sense… I just—I don’t really know where to start.”

“Lucky for you, sugar”—he grins, leaning back in his chair—“I do.”