Page 158 of Unmanageable

“Out of control,” she mumbles through a mouthful of pickle.

Dean turns his attention to me, his expression turning business-like. “Jenna, I need your eyes on this. We have a signing coming in for a walk through in ten minutes. I need a preliminary press release drafted by noon.”

“Ten minutes? Dean, you’re joking,” I say, reaching for my favorite pink glitter pen. “I need at least a bio, a highlight reel, and a reason to tell the fans to buy his jersey. Is he a star, or is he a reclamation project?”

“He’s… uhh.. talent-heavy,” Dean says, his voice dropping slightly.

He slides the folder across my desk. It’s thick with legal jargon and performance metrics.

“Why are you being so cryptic?” I ask, tapping the folder with my pen. “Did he get into a bar fight? Please, God, tell me he didn’t try to fight a mascot.”

Dean sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “He’s complicated. Just read the file, Jenna.”

I open the folder. I’m already mentally drafting the PR strategy, planning the tone of the social media announcement, preparing to turn this guy into a fan favorite.

Name: Jace Sterling.

The name hits me like a physical blow to the solar plexus. My breath hitches, the room tilting on its axis. The glitter pen rolls out of my hand, clattering against the wood.

Jace.

The air in my office feels too thin. My heart is a frantic bird against my ribs, battering at the cage of my chest.

I haven’t spoken to him in three years. I have blocked, deleted, and professionally scrubbed him from every platform I manage.

I moved to Boston to be invisible. To be me. To be the woman who doesn’t apologize for taking up space.

“Jenna?” Scottie’s voice is suddenly very close. Her hand is firm on my arm. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I can’t answer. My hands are shaking.

I look up, and Dean is watching me, his eyes sharp and protective. He sees the way the color has drained from my face, the way my world just shattered into tiny, jagged pieces.

“Jenna,” Dean says quietly, his posture shifting. “If you need a moment, I can—”

“Where is he?”

“He’s in the front office,” Dean says. “He’s already checked in with security.”

The door opens again. I don’t look up; I’m staring at the dust motes dancing in the light, trying to remember how to breathe.

“You know, I expected the office to be bigger,” a voice says. “A little less… pink.”

I look up.

Jace is leaning against my doorframe, wearing a tailored suit, his hair perfectly styled, that easy, lovable smile tugging at his lips. He looks at me, and I see the flicker of recognition, the exact moment he realizes who I am.

“Jenny?” he says, his voice softening in a way that used to make my knees weak. “It really is you.”

The room is silent.

Scottie is staring at me, her hand resting protectively on her stomach, her eyes wide. Cash has stepped forward, his body language shifting into something defensive, his eyes tracking Jace’s every move. Dean is standing by the desk, his jaw clenched, his hand hovering near the file.

I square my shoulders. I smooth the front of my blazer, anchoring myself. I channel every ounce of the “PR girlie” boss-energy I’ve cultivated for years.

“Mr. Sterling,” I say, my voice steady, though I can feel the pulse thumping in my throat.

Jace blinks, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second. “I didn’t know you were the one handling the Reign’s PR. Small world, right?”