"Are you sure it sounds good?"

I scooped up the page with the article I wrote for Virginia from my comforter and skimmed the first paragraph again.

"Yes." Jim's warm voice caressed my ear through the phone. "It sounds like the girl who wrote it knows what she's talking about. And she writes. And she's overqualified, so they'd better give her a raise fast, or her boyfriend—"

"Jim."

"Ava."

"I'm not overqualified. I'm a wannabe author with no qualifications." And no job yet.

"You're an about-to-be college student who lived out of the country for a year, has work experience, and is talented at everything that has to do with words."

"You're biased."

Jim chuckled. "So are you. You love everything I write, even if I hate it. But I'm not saying stuff to make you feel good. You nailed the article. This is my unbiased opinion, so please believe me. And stop rereading that thing."

"How did you...Right, you always know."

"Now we finally are on the same page. Too bad we're not in the same bed."

"Are you already in bed?"

"I'm spent." Jim yawned. "The album's almost ready, but there's still too much to wrap up."

I put the page down and rolled onto my side.

"Are you nervous?"

"Yeah. We're experimenting with genres, and the vibe is different. It's a love it or hate it kind of situation, but both Dermot and Cay are confident it's gonna be alright."

"What does your intuition tell you?"

"That things usually turn out okay if you're true to yourself, and we were. But fans have their expectations too."

"It's going to be amazing, " I whispered. "I believe in you."

A sigh slipped past Jim's lips. "Ditto, beautiful."

☆☆☆

The following morning, I checked my email as soon as I woke up. There was nothing from Virginia yet, perhaps because less than a day had passed since I sent her the article about the new book releases. I needed to be patient, but it'd be way easier if the job weren't my dream job.

It wasn't only about the money, although money was important. If I worked for The Cultural Digest, I'd meet lots of industry professionals and attend events I would've missed otherwise. Plus, who wouldn't want to be able to list a famous magazine in the work experience section of their resume?

Still in my PJs, I dashed downstairs to have breakfast. Dad left for work, and although having the house to myself would grant me the quiet I needed to focus on editing my book, worry didn't let me think about anything other than Virginia's answer.

A mental pep talk and a mug of steaming coffee later, I decided to try to be productive until I heard from the magazine. I took my plate and cup to the dishwasher, and right on cue, my cell buzzed with an email.

Sitting at the kitchen table, I clutched the phone and stared at the small envelope for a solid two minutes.

When I gathered the courage to open it, a mix of excitement and worry seized my insides.

Virginia didn't tell me the job was mine, but she asked me to come to her office as soon as possible.

☆☆☆

There was no time to agonize over the choice of clothes, so I settled on a white midi skirt paired with a black sleeveless blouse. The nude pumps made my legs look longer and gave me a much-needed confidence boost, while the black designer purse Harper gave me added an expensive touch to the outfit.

An hour after reading Virginia's email, I parked my Chevy and walked into the lobby of the building that housed The Cultural Digest.

Lucky for me, the elevator arrived two minutes after I'd pressed the button. A suit-clad man rushed out of the machine, and I stepped inside, grateful for being alone and having a moment to collect myself.

The aroma of coffee mixed with the flowery notes of perfume tickled my nostrils when I exited the elevator. The reception area was deserted, and I headed straight to Virginia's office as she'd indicated. Through the door left ajar, I glimpsed her sitting behind her white desk.

As soon as my knuckles touched the wood, her head snapped up. "Ava. Come on in."

"Good afternoon."

Smiling, I approached her desk and lowered myself onto a light gray armchair Virginia pointed at.

"So, I've read your article," she said. "And I have a question."

I smoothed my palms over the front of my skirt. "Sure."

"Are you ready to start tomorrow?"

I bit my bottom lip to stop the grin from spreading across my face and nodded. "I am. It'd be amazing."

"Awesome. I'll explain your duties after our daily meeting with the team, but I'd like you to meet Kim and Leslie now. Come with me."

Virginia rose from her chair and headed out of the room, a spring to her step. She radiated energy and confidence; perhaps that made her look younger than her fifty.

I followed her lead, glancing around the hallway. Now that I was less nervous, I noticed the framed covers of The Cultural Digest and photos of famous journalists and writers dotting the walls.

The two girls in charge of the reception leveled me with curious stares when we stopped by their long desk.

"Girls, this is Ava Morris. I'll introduce her to the team at our meeting tomorrow, but I wanted you to meet her today," Virginia said.

I extended my hand to the black-haired girl first. "Nice to meet you."

A warm smile spread across her face as she returned my handshake. "Likewise. I'm Kim."

"Leslie," the blonde wearing round glasses said. She looked at me for a tad too long, and I discreetly examined my clothes to make sure there weren't stains I'd missed in a rush to get ready.

"Well, now that you know each other, I'll let you chat." Virginia squeezed my shoulder. "See you tomorrow at nine, Ava."

"Sure." I smiled. "And thank you for everything."

Virginia gave us a small wave and marched back to her office.

As soon as she was out of sight, Leslie cleared her throat. "Um, Ava."

I clutched the straps of my purse. "Yeah?"

"We don't want to be nosy, but—"

"Leslie!" Kim hissed, nudging her friend's ribs.

"Are you Jim O'Brien's girlfriend?" Leslie blurted out. "You look like her, and we've been reading the magazine—"

"The magazine?"

"Yes. The Limelight, just don't tell Virginia. She hates it with passion." Leslie's voice dropped. "Says we're better than those vultures."

My stomach churned. "Can I see it?"

"Sure." Kim pulled a glossy magazine from under a stack of papers.

I grabbed it with my shaky hand, unable to tear my eyes away from the photo on the cover.

Our photo because Jim was there, too. Gazing down at me with a tender smile on his lips.

And his hands squeezing my ass on the postcard-like beach in Mallorca.

I remembered that day. It was the beginning of our vacation. Jim couldn't keep his hands off me, I couldn't stop touching him, and now everyone would catch a glimpse of our Amor Caliente or Hot Love, as the magazine called it, in bold white letters.

Leslie gasped. "Oh my God, it's definitely you. More pictures are inside if you want to see them."

"Forgive her." Kim shot me an apologetic look. "Leslie loves to gossip."

"It's okay."

Or maybe not because, scandalous as the cover photo was, I wasn't sure the rest were decent.

Paps could've seen me with my breasts pressed against the glass and Jim's hand between my legs. They could've photographed me while I was sunbathing by the pool buck naked or when Jim and I were making love on a patio chair.

We forgot everyone existed while everyone's focus was on us.

I leafed through the magazine, stopping at an article about Jim and me.

To my relief, they captured sweet, innocent moments — us walking on the beach and holding hands, Jim feeding me prawns in a small beachfront restaurant, us looking at the sunset. We were kissing with our eyes closed in one photo, but our clothes were on.

I closed the magazine and put it on the desk. "Thank you. And yes, Jim is my boyfriend. See you tomorrow?"

"Sure," Kim said. "See you at the meeting."

I said goodbye to her and Leslie and called the elevator. When it opened with a ding, and the heavy door slid open, I got into the cabin, immediately pulling the phone out of my purse.

Jim sent me several texts. I leaned against the wall and opened the chat.

Jim: Waiting for you outside.