Page 100 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

“Yes. But you’re right about having a balanced life where you can both be together. That’s worth making it work.” I think about my own complicated schedule, the constant juggling act.

Rebecca nods, then lets out a long breath. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m in over my head. The startup costs alone are daunting, andthere’s so much to consider. But it could be amazing, you know?” She lowers her voice. “We’re even considering Jacksonville.”

“Jacksonville?” The mention of Nate’s hometown catches my attention.

“I know, right? But it makes sense. It’s actually an amazing location for film production. Great tax incentives, growing creative community. It’s the largest city by land area in the lower 48—plenty of room to build sound stages.” She smiles. “Plus, Jake’s been wanting to get out of L.A. anyway. Says he’s tired of the whole Hollywood scene.”

“Anyway,” Rebecca waves her hand dismissively, “it’s all just ideas right now. But something has to change, you know? This industry... there has to be a better way.”

I try to picture Rebecca and Jake in Jacksonville, building something new. It’s an intriguing thought.

“Well, Nate loves Jacksonville. So do I, for that matter.”

“Oh, that’s right. The Wild Band moved their headquarters there.” Rebecca gives me a thoughtful look.

“Okay, everybody back to work,” the director’s voice interrupts us.

“I should get back to Jack.” Rebecca stands, gathering her things. “But thanks for listening to my pipe dreams.”

As she returns my quick hug, she states. “You and Nate are good together. Don’t let this crazy business mess that up.”

“I won’t,” I tell her, my throat tight.

She leaves me there, staring at her departing back, thinking about choices and changes and what I really want. Maybe having it all isn’t impossible—a career, love, a future with Nate. I just have to make sure he wants that future as much as I do.

Thirty-One

Lacey

The red-eye from LAX leaves me exhausted but buzzing with anticipation. Three days felt like three years, and as I descend the private terminal stairs in Jacksonville, my pulse kicks up because I know he’s waiting for me—my private drummer, who can barely stand the spotlight but commands it every night.

I spot him the moment I clear security—leaning casually against a pillar, baseball cap low, and wearing a black hoodie zipped up just enough to disguise him from prying eyes. But it doesn’t matter. I’d recognize him anywhere.

Those sharp cheekbones. That strong jaw. Those impossibly blue eyes.

The moment he sees me, his entire posture shifts. His grip on his phone tightens, his broad shoulders straighten, and his eyes lock onto me like I’m the only thing in this entire airport that matters.

And just like that, my entire body tightens. I don’t think. I just move.

His arms are open before I even reach him, and the second I’m there, he wraps me up tight.

God, I missed him.

His scent—clean, warm, Nate—fills my lungs, and I exhale against his chest, breathing him in.

“You’re here,” he murmurs against my hair, his voice rough with something more than relief.

“Of course I’m here.” I tilt my head, grinning up at him. “I had to remind you what I look like in person.”

His lips curve into something wicked. “As if I’d ever forget.”

I roll my eyes. “So, you missed me?” I tease with a grin.

He doesn’t answer, and I don’t stop him as he leans down, cups my face in his hands, and kisses me like we’re alone instead of surrounded by airport personnel. I melt into him, my carry-on hitting the ground forgotten as I wind my arms around his neck.

Because this isn’t just a kiss; it feels like he’s welcoming me home.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I murmur against his lips when we finally break apart.

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