Crossed paths

Chapter 3 The D Day

Allena

The studio set was an absolute hurricane of movement. Ten stunning models glided through the corridors, their heavy gowns trailing behind them as production assistants and makeup artists scurried to offer last-minute touch-ups. From what I understood of the production brief, only the initial solo promos were being filmed here at the main studio. The actual competitive segments of the show would take place under the humid skies of Miami.

I took a tentative step onto the studio floor, trying my best not to look as overwhelmed as I felt.

This was easily the most massive production environment I had ever witnessed. Every woman walking past me looked as though she had been perfectly sculpted for a magazine cover. Amidst all the silk, sequins, and effortlessly symmetrical features, a sharp pang of self-consciousness hit me right in the chest. I smoothed down my favorite blue dress, forcing a steady breath into my lungs.

Remember why you're here, I reminded myself silently. It’s just about the money. Pay down the crushing debt installments, clear the slate, and get out. Once the financial cage was unlocked, I would finally be free to live on my own terms. I could travel the world, carry my easel to quiet corners of the earth, and capture real, untamed beauty on a canvas. I just had to survive this world of superficial glitz and shallow elite lives first.

I was entirely lost in my own thoughts when a light, polite tap landed on my shoulder. I spun around, blinking out of my daydream.

Standing in front of me was a tall man, his head tilted down as he scrolled through a tablet.

"Yes?" I asked.

He looked up from the screen, a warm, easy smile instantly reaching his face. He was conventionally handsome, possessing the kind of symmetrical features that thrived under television lighting.

"Are you one of the contestants, or are you here for the promo shoot?"

A sudden blush crept up my neck, warming my cheeks. "Neither, actually. I'm Allena. I was hired as a production personal assistant for the contestants."

"Well, that's good news for them," he said, his smile widening into a charming grin. "Because if you were actually competing, I don't think any of the other girls would stand a chance. By the way, I'm Sam. One of the assistant directors on the crew." He extended a hand toward me, and I shook it politely, grateful for a friendly face.

"It's nice to meet you, Sam," I said, a bit relieved. "Do you happen to know where Office Number Four is? I need to drop off my paperwork on time, or I'm going to lose this job before my first shift even starts."

"I'm definitely not letting that happen," Sam laughed, gesturing down the corridor. "Go straight down this hall, take your first left, and it'll be the second door on your right."

"Thank you so much. I'll see you around the set, then."

"Count on it," he replied, turning back toward the main camera bay.

I hurried down the hall to the administrative office, where I spent the next two hours filling out tax forms, verifying my credentials, and signing a massive non-disclosure agreement. The NDA was so thick it looked like a textbook, and since I was desperate to get moving, I didn't even bother reading through the fine print. I just scribbled my signature on the final page and handed it over.

By the time the paperwork cleared, I was officially assigned to Laura Copper, this year's reigning Miss Femina. My immediate thought was that a higher pageant title usually meant significantly higher tantrums. Keeping my fingers firmly crossed, I walked down the green-room hallway and gave a polite, measured knock on her dressing room door.

"Come in!" a voice called out sharply.

I pushed the door open. Laura was sitting in front of a vanity mirror, draped in a magnificent, backless emerald gown. A stylist was hovering over her, meticulously tweaking an already flawless layer of makeup.

"Hello, Ms. Copper. I'm your assigned assistant for the duration of the show," I introduced myself, keeping my tone as professional as possible. "My name is Allena."

Laura didn't even turn around to look at me. Instead, she locked eyes with my reflection in the mirror, her irritation instantly flaring. "You're late. They're practically wrapping up the promo shoots, you stupid girl."

"I am incredibly sorry, ma'am," I apologized, choosing to ignore the insult for the sake of my paycheck. "I was on the studio lot early, but the administrative check-in took much longer than expected. The production office only handed me your assignment five minutes ago."

Laura let out a sharp, dismissive sigh, though her expression shifted from annoyance to a smug satisfaction. "Whatever. Lucky you, anyway. You're going to be assisting the absolute winner of this entire show. I will let you in on a little secret, I already know him personally." She smirked, radiating an immense, untouchable wave of confidence.

"Him?" I repeated blankly. To be completely honest, I hadn't even bothered to look up the identity of the billionaire anchor of the show. I didn't want to know. My entire goal was to collect the eight thousand dollars, ignore the shallow drama, and head straight to the beach.

"Yeah, J," Laura purred, admiring her own reflection. "Jackson Paul. I call him J, obviously, because we're incredibly close."

The moment the syllables left her mouth, my ears began to ring. The rest of her words faded into absolute static.

Jackson Paul.

No. No, it couldn't be my Jack. It was impossible. It had to be a coincidence. It was a common enough name, and the chances of it being the exact same person from my past were practically nonexistent. It had been more than a decade. The Jack I knew wouldn't be paraded around on a reality show.

"Hey! Lost bird!" Laura's sharp voice snapped me violently back to reality. She was glaring at me through the mirror. "Go get me a green tea right now. I'm completely exhausted from sitting here."

I gave a tight, mechanical nod, my limbs feeling heavy. "Right away."

I turned and walked out of the dressing room, my mind completely numb. My chest ached with a sudden, suffocating pressure. It was infuriating how a simple name could still completely derail me after all these years. It shouldn't matter. It couldn't matter. I was here for a job, and I needed to keep my eyes entirely on the prize. Focus on the task at hand, I told myself. Just find the green tea.

Anxious to escape my own thoughts, I picked up my pace, practically sprinting down the intersecting corridors toward the catering kitchen. I turned a sharp corner blindly, my momentum carrying me forward until I crashed directly into a solid, unyielding chest.

The impact knocked the breath right out of my lungs. Losing my balance completely, I felt myself falling backward onto the polished floor. But before I could hit the ground, a pair of incredibly strong, muscled hands caught me securely by the waist, locking me in a firm grip.