6. Marissa

Standing in front of the mirror that hangs on my bedroom door, I change into yet another blouse. Today is the day I meet Charlie Elwood in person for the first time, and no outfit feels quite right.

Minutes tick by as I try on various combinations, each failing to instill the confidence I need. In the end, I settle on a simple black dress with a tailored blazer. Professional yet feminine. Satisfied, I grab my purse and rush out the door, already running late.

Isaac is at the coffee station when I enter the office, the other agents and assistants busy at their desks.

“Ah, the day has come for Marissa to prove herself,” he sneers as he strolls by, his dark eyes glinting maliciously.

“Real classy,” I retort, holding back the urge to lose my temper.

Instead, I remind myself that actions speak louder than words. I’ll show him what I’m made of. With determination in my heart, I head to my office to prepare for the upcoming lunch with Charlie.

As I sit at my desk, nerves creep up my spine. Meeting Charlie Elwood is a big deal — not only because of his star status but also because this could make or break my career. If his image continues to tank, I’ll become known as the agent who went down with him. Even if I do leave this agency one day, it’s unlikely anyone else will want to hire me.

Opening up my computer, I click through countless articles detailing his escapades, the scandals that have plagued him lately. A part of me wonders if I’m in over my head, trying to save someone so seemingly uninterested in redemption.

At eleven thirty, I finally step out of the office and make my way to the restaurant, which is a ten-minute walk away. With each step, my stomach churns with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.

“Deep breaths, Marissa,” I mutter to myself.

The aroma of Italian cuisine wafts through the air as I approach the restaurant. A swarm of people gathers outside, buzzing with excitement. I pause for a moment, scanning the crowd… and then I spot him. Charlie Elwood, the man at the center of it all.

He ducks past the throng of adoring fans, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. It’s so unlike the camera-hogging athlete I’ve read about in the tabloids, but his most recent scandal must be the cause of this uncharacteristic behavior. He must be ashamed.

“Charlie!” someone shouts from the crowd, trying to snap a photo of him.

His head remains down, avoiding eye contact. I find myself feeling a strange mix of pity and determination. This is the man whose career I’m tasked with saving and seeing him like this only strengthens my resolve.

“Excuse me,” I say softly, shouldering my way through the crowd. I need to get inside before anyone realizes who I am or why I’m here.

“Marissa White, here to see Charlie Elwood,” I tell the hostess, trying to keep my voice steady.

This is it; no turning back now.

I follow the hostess through the dining room and down a narrow hallway, my heels clicking on the polished tile floor. She stops in front of an unmarked door, her hand resting on the handle.

“He asked for a private room?” I say.

She gives me a quizzical look. “Of course.”

I nod, embarrassed that I look so green. As Charlie’s new agent, I should have thought of asking for a private room for my star client, who no doubt doesn’t want to be bombarded by people while conducting business.

“Enjoy your lunch.” She smiles politely before slipping away, leaving me to face the music alone.

Taking a deep breath, I push open the door and step into the small, dimly lit room. My eyes are immediately drawn to the man seated at a table in the center of the space.

And here he is. Charlie Elwood.

Up close, he’s even more breathtaking than I’d imagined — broad shoulders, chiseled jawline, and those intense blue eyes that seem to see right through me.

“Marissa White,” I say, extending my hand as I walk towards him. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

“Likewise,” he replies, his voice low and smooth as he takes my hand. His gaze drifts over me, and I immediately feel self-conscious under his scrutiny. “You’re even more beautiful than your pictures, if that’s possible.”

The comment takes me aback, and for a moment I don’t know what to say.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, my cheeks warming despite my attempt to remain professional.

I slide into the seat across from him, trying to ignore the way my stomach flips at his compliment. He shouldn’t be speaking to me that way, but I do have to admit… it’s nice.

“Shall we get down to business?” I ask, opening the folder I’ve brought with me and laying out my notes.

“Of course.” A faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “But first, I have to know. Are you single?”

All right. Enough is enough. One compliment is fine, but this is taking things too far.

“Charlie, that’s not relevant.” I don’t bother hiding my disappointment. I’d hoped he would be more focused on his future than flirting with me.

“Come on,” he protests, leaning in closer. “You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“Okay, then. Let me be clear.” I lean forward and fix him with a steely gaze. “You’re lucky to have been given this chance. There’s no way anyone else in the industry will take you on after your last scandal. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep our relationship strictly professional. No flirting. No comments about my body or looks. No questions about my personal life.”

His playful expression falters for a moment, but then he smirks again, clearly unfazed by my words. “Well, now that we’ve got that settled, shall we discuss my future?”

I exhale sharply. That’s just what I was saying!

“Great,” I respond.

Already, he’s reminding me of all the entitled bros I work with at the office. But hey, at least that means I’ll know how to deal with him.

“If you need a refresher on the boundaries?—”

He cuts me off. “I don’t. Strictly professional. Got it.” He looks away.

I bite my tongue and try not to notice how good he smells, how large his hands are, how silky his sandy-blond hair is. I’m giving him a hard time, but the boundaries are for me as well.

And if I know what’s good for myself, I’ll play within the lines.