The deal
1307 Words
My legs are moving on autopilot.
The hallways blur, while the agency’s chatter morphs into a distant hum like I am hearing it through the water.
I push through the exit door and stumble outside to the back of the building, my breath coming short and shallow.
My chest feels tight—too tight, too much,
My heart is palpitating too fast as if its on a mission to break free from its cage.
I sink down onto the cool concrete steps, gripping my knees.
“Sienna, Breathe,” I will myself.
But I can’t.
My lungs refuse to expand, and my vision is tunneling. My hands shake as I press them to my chest, desperate to stop the crushing weight pressing down on me.
Everything is slipping away. The house. My mom’s memory. My stability. My entire life!
A sharp gasp rips from my throat and I clutch at my ribs, trying to rip away the force burning in my chest, stealing away my goddamn breath. It feels like I am drowning.
“Hey, hey—breathe.”
A deep, steady voice cuts through the fog, and suddenly, a warm hand is on my back. Firm, grounding. Not restraining. Just there.
I barely process that someone is crouching beside me until I hear his voice again, softer this time.
“Miss, Look at me.”
I blink, my eyes focusing on a pair of striking blue ones. They belong to a man crouched in front of me—broad shoulders, tousled dark hair, and a symmetrical and flawlessly proportioned face that looks like sin and scandal.
One that women groan over.
He is wrapped in an expensive T-shirt that is molded to his body with precision and control.
Oh no, this can't be.
The infamous Jaxon Carter is kneeling in front of me!
I try to pull away, but another wave of dizziness hits, and a series of choked noises escape my throat.
Jax frowns, his hand firm yet careful against my back. “You are having a panic attack. You need to breathe with me.”
I shake my head frantically, my breath still ragged.
“I—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he says, his voice calm but unshakable.
“Just follow my lead”
He inhales deeply through his nose, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling slowly through his mouth. He nods for me patiently, signaling that I should follow his actions.
I try. I really do. But my breath stutters, and panic claws at my throat again.
Jax shifts closer, his knee almost brushing mine. “Okay. Let’s try this.”
He holds out his large hand, palm up. “Count my fingers.”
I blink, confused, but force myself to focus as he slowly extends one finger.
“One.”
Then another.
“Two.”
Another.
“Three.”
I match his breathing without realizing it, my focus narrowing to the simple rhythm of his voice, his fingers, the inhale-exhale pattern.
By the time he reaches five, my breaths are still shaky, but they’re no longer spiraling. I can say I am out of the woods.
Jax watches me carefully, then nods. “Good. Better?”
I inhale slowly before I swallow hard and nod, “Yeah. I think so.”
The weight on my chest lightens just enough for me to notice how ridiculously close we are.
His forearm flexes slightly as he leans back, his shirt riding up to reveal a sharp V-line and ink peeking out from beneath the hem.
The faint scent of cologne and cigarettes clings to him, but there’s something else underneath it. Something warm.
He straightens, sauntering over to the wall before leaning against it with the kind of lazy confidence that belongs to people who have never had to beg for anything in their lives. He pulls a cigarette from his pocket, flicks open his lighter, and takes a slow drag before stuffing it back into his Varsity jacket.
“You always sit behind buildings when you are upset, or is today special?” he quips, exhaling a slow stream of smoke and watching me with that unreadable, piercing gaze.
My head snaps up and I am not prepared of the scene unfolding infront of me.
A nonchalant smirk is gracinghis face, one that screams trouble.
He has paired his t-shirt with some blue jeans that are doing nothing to hide the sculpted muscles beneath.
And God help me, he is even more ridiculously good-looking in person.
I let out a slow breath. “Didn’t realize this was your smoking lounge.”
He exhales another cloud of smoke. “Didn’t realize this was your panic spot.”
My lips press into a thin line. “I was just having an emotional breakdown…you know, rough day,” The urge to explain myself bubbles through me.
He gives me a lazy once-over, before shrugging his shoulders, “Fair enough.”
A beat of silence passes. Not the one you would say was uncomfortable.
“Money problems?”
The hot chocolate I had downed during breakfast sloshes in my stomach, “How do you—”
He flicks the ash of his cigarette before smirking, “Same look I used to see in my mom’s eyes when I was growing up.”
A sharp pang hits my chest. But I say nothing. How the hell does this guy I just met know exactly what’s eating me alive?
"By the way am Jaxon Carter, if you like you can call me Jax," he says shifting the topic
Yeah, I know. Jaxon Carter. MVP quarterback. The all-American golden boy turned tabloid scandal.
“I’m Sienna,” I mutter, forcing my lips into something that resembles a smile. “Sienna Blake.”
“So Sienna, what brings you out here for an early-morning breakdown?,” he drawls, leaning back against the wall.
I hesitate, but something about him makes me feel at ease and I spill before I can stop myself.
“Well, as you guessed right, I am drowning in debt and my childhood home is facing foreclosure in the next few days, and Vaughn—being Vaughn—refused to give me a loan or an advance or whatever you would like to call it,” I blurt out, and the second the words leave my mouth, regret slams into me like a freight train.
“And you?” I ask, not expecting him to tell me what was eating out his mind.
“As the rumors have it, I have my eyes set on this multimillion contract with the Titans and I came looking for Vaughn’s representation to help me with the negotiation. He asked for a 15% cut of the value of the contract and ordered me to clean up my act which I dont know how.”
He shiftson his feet. “Vaughn is a bastard. He doesn’t help anyone unless there is something in it for him. “
“No kidding.” I let out a humourless laugh.
Another pause. Then, Jax turns to me fully, expression unreadable. He then casually says, “What if I told you I have a mutually beneficial proposal?”
I blink. “What?”
He smirks, tilting his head. “You need money.” He flicks his cigarette, watching the embers disappear. “And I need a girlfriend.”
I stare at him like he’s lost his mind. “Excuse me?”
His smirk deepens. “You pretend to be my girlfriend. In return, I clear your debts and pay you seven grand every time you make a public appearance with me.”
My heart lurches. Debt-free? Plus extra cash? It’s almost too good to be true.
A devious smile flickers over his mouth, “Do we have a deal?”
- Writer
