Crossed paths

Chapter 7 At Club

Jack

The silence that followed after Allena ran out of my office was deafening. I stared at the closed door, my chest tightening with a mix of fury and intense guilt. I hadn’t stopped her. I hadn’t even corrected her.

I hadn’t fired her at all. I had explicitly called HR to arrange a transfer to a different department, completely away from my production, a safe, stable placement. I wanted her gone from my sight, not thrown out onto the street.

When she looked at me with those deflated eyes, believing I had ruthlessly fired her, it rubbed me the wrong way. She actually thought I was that petty. But worse than my wounded pride was the look itself. Her eyes, usually burning with an unbreakable determination, looked entirely hollow. Life had thrown absolute hell at her, yet she had always fought back with a fierce, quiet courage that used to captivate me. Seeing that fire extinguished, even for a moment, made the air in the room feel heavy and suffocating.

Pulling out my phone, my fingers flew across the screen as I fired off a sharp, demanding message to the production management team, ordering them to investigate exactly how this misunderstanding had been created and who had botched the communication of her transfer. Right below that, I texted HR with a final, unyielding directive: Terminate William immediately. Effective today.

I have always despised men who treat women with disrespect; it is a line no one crosses under my roof.

But seeing that disrespect directed at Allena? It triggered a raw, primal rage in me that I could barely contain. That piece of s**t. The way he had cornered her, his voice dripping with condescension, it made my blood boil.

I paced the length of my office, the expansive glass windows offering a view of the city that suddenly felt incredibly cold. What am I doing? I had structured my entire life to avoid thinking about her, yet here she was, occupying every single thought.

A dark, familiar cynicism crept in, chilling my sympathy. For all I know, it’s an act. A calculated piece of drama designed to pull at my heartstrings, and my bank account. Again. Why else would she be working a grueling, low-tier job on this set after walking away with all that money years ago? She was a phenomenal actress, I couldn’t let myself be fooled twice.

I shook my head, clearing the thought.

No. It’s not my problem anymore. She is not mine to worry about.

Desperate for a distraction, I grabbed my phone and dialed Zane. He was the only person who could anchor me when my mind spun out of control.

"Wrong number," Zane’s voice droned instantly on the first ring.

I couldn't help the faint smirk that cracked through my tension. He was punishing me for canceling our plans the previous week. "I know it's you, Zane. Cut the bullshit and meet me at the club at seven."

A heavy sigh echoed through the receiver, followed by a long pause. "Hey, asshole. First, you ghost me for days without a single word of explanation, and now you suddenly remember I exist? I do have a life, you know." I could practically hear him rolling his eyes through the speaker.

We had been friends since childhood, navigating the cutthroat world of high society together. We knew each other’s rhythms better than anyone. "I know, I’m sorry," I said, my voice softening as I leaned against my desk. "I got buried under the new production launch. You know how suffocating the workload gets during premiere weeks. Cut me some slack?"

"Fine," Zane relented, though his tone remained sharp. "But this is the last time. And tonight, the top-shelf drinks are entirely on your tab."

"Sometimes I forget you’re a well to do too," I chuckled, the heavy weight in my chest easing slightly. We kept each other grounded; we were the only ones who didn't let the wealth rot our brains.

"Me too. Now, are you going to tell me what’s actually eating at you, or do I have to pry it out of you?"

"Nothing serious," I lied smoothly, keeping my voice casual. "Just can't get a girl out of my head."

If I mentioned Allena’s name, I would never hear the end of it. Years ago, Zane had warned me about her. He had seen through the cracks when I was entirely blinded by love, and I hadn't listened to a single word.

"Wow. That’s a phrase I haven't heard from you in a long time," Zane said, a new spark of intrigue in his voice. "She must be something special to actually scramble your brain. I’ve got the perfect remedy. Meet me at the new Shawn Club. I’ll text you the address."

"Perfect. See you there."

I hung up, the silence returning to the room like a physical weight. I sat back at my desk, forcing my eyes onto the financial sheets, trying to drown out Allena’s deflated expression with numbers and projections.

An hour later, I wrapped up the paperwork. Just as I stood to grab my coat, a sharp, rhythmic knock echoed against the wood. My heart skipped a beat, a sudden, unwanted rush of adrenaline pulsing through my veins. Is she back? What could she possibly want now?

"Come in," I called out, my voice tight with a frustration born entirely out of my own inner turmoil.

The door swung open, but it wasn't Allena.

A striking woman stepped into the office, wearing a designer dress that seemed to challenge the boundaries of decency. Her face was perfectly sculpted, familiar in the vague way, but all high-fashion models tended to be so.

"Hi, Jack. It feels like an absolute eternity," she purred, her eyes scanning me. "How do you manage to look even more handsome every time I see you?"

Before I could even formulate a polite question as to who she was, she crossed the room, enveloping me in a cloud of expensive, cloying perfume. She threw her arms around my neck, pressing herself flush against me.

Instinctively, I gripped her forearms and stepped backward, creating a hard boundary between us. "I'm sorry," I said, my voice dripping with professional distance. "But I don't believe I recognize you." Experience had taught me to never engage with a woman until I knew exactly who she was and what she wanted from my name.

She pouted, her glossy lips forming a perfect, exaggerated line. "Seriously? I’m Laura Karol. Don't tell me you forgot last week's charity gala? I had a little too much champagne, and you were such a perfect gentleman to ensure I got home safely."

She stepped closer again, leaning in until her breath brushed my ear, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "But you know... I wouldn't have minded at all if you hadn't been such a gentleman, Jack."

The memory finally clicked. The gala, the slurred conversation in the back of my town car about her makeup sponsors and dress designers. I remembered her name from the production roster.

"Right. Laura," I said, stepping around my desk to put physical mahogany between us. "You're one of the contestants shortlisted for the upcoming reality showcase."

"Exactly," she slurred slightly, her eyes glittering as she leaned against the edge of my desk. "Which is why I decided to drop by. I thought it would be wonderful if we got to know each other... intimately."

"I’d love to," I lied, checking my watch with practiced ease. "But I have an engagement I can't cancel. Perhaps another time."

Her face fell into a look of profound confusion. "Oh. I see."

I grabbed my coat, ready to pass her and leave, when a sudden thought halted me at the door. I looked at Laura, beautiful, superficial, and entirely uncomplicated. She was exactly what I needed. A loud, mindless distraction to burn away the memory of Allena's haunting eyes.

"Actually," I turned back, offering a calculated smile. "Why don't you come with me? I'm heading out to Shawn."

"The Shawn Club?" she shrieked, the sheer excitement shattering her sultry persona. Her eyes lit up with the unmistakable glow of social ambition. Usually that was an absolute turnoff for me but tonight I didn’t care.

"Yeah. Meeting Zane there."

"Oh, absolutely! I would love to." She practically bounced to my side, hooking her arm tightly through mine. "Let’s go."

I escorted her down to the underground garage, the heavy concrete walls dampening the noise of the studio above. When the headlights of my car flashed in the dim light, I caught the familiar shift in her posture, a subtle, practiced widening of her eyes as she took in the car. It was a look I had seen a thousand times before. I ignored it, entirely numb to the reaction by now, and started the engine.

The thirty-minute drive was surprisingly peaceful. Laura spent the entirety of the trip pulled up to the vanity mirror, meticulously reapplying layers of lip gloss and powder. I was profoundly grateful for the silence. I leaned back against the leather seat, pulling out my phone to clear through a backlog of corporate emails, doing everything in my power to keep my mind from drifting back to the woman I had just transferred out of my life.

When we pulled up to the Shawn Club, the valet took the keys, and a security guard escorted us o the sanctuary of the private lounge.