Page 108 of Heartbreaker
It’s going to look great with the shirt I’ll be wearing tonight. The merchandise team and I had partnered to create a customBrooks Taylorshirt to commemorate tonight. The design matches his current T-shirt with a whiteBTencased in a shield that spans the front. However, instead of black, they’d found a teal blue fabric to match the color of John’s ring pants.
With a final thank you, I turn on my heel to search for my tag partner, only to run straight into the broad chest of a different man. The one I’ve been avoiding. “Oh, shit, Noah! Hi.”
“You have a second?” he asks, not looking at me, his eyes scanning the hallway.
“Sure.”
Noah guides me down a hallway perpendicular to the one we were just in, and the farther we get, the more nervous I become. I know what this is about, and I’m still not ready to make a decision. Amos wants an answer, and apparently, he doesn’t want to wait until tomorrow to get it.
We come to another turn, and Noah slows his pace, glancing around the corner before he stares down at me. “Have you given any more thought to what you’re going to do?”
I sigh, crossing my arms.
“I’m not trying to pressure you, Savannah. I’m just curious, and Creative wants to know where to go after tonight. There are different directions for what happens, and it all depends onyou.”
“Like?”
“Well.” Noah clears his throat, straightening out his tie and rebuttoning his suit jacket. “I want to explore you and Brooks some more.”
I scoff. “You mean putting us in an official love storyline again?”
“Savannah, people were eating up that fucking promo the other night. You and Brooks feed off each other better than most—you know it, I know it, and so does everyone on the writing team. The fans live for that shit. They love watching you two together—it’s why we wanted you to come back as his partner in the first place.”
“Noah—”
“I know that you guys aren’t on the best of terms, despite what I saw last night.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I look away from him. Now is not the time to confirm his suspicions, not when I need more answers.
“That’s because you didn’t see what I saw.” The smirk I know he’s plastered on his lips makes me roll my eyes without even looking at him. “If I asked you right here, right now, to sign that contract. What would you say?”
My face falls, and when I glance up at him, his raised brow begs me to answer. If I had to decide right now, I would say—
“Noah!” Chelsea’s voice bounces off the concrete walls. We both turn to see his wife strutting toward us, and the echo of heels fills the silence that follows. She only addresses me with a quick nod. Chelsea and I have never been close; I don’t think she’s close with anyone on the roster, maintaining that clear divide between talent and corporate. But she doesn’t seem to mind that Noah and I have a mutual respect when it comes to the business. He has been my rock during this entire return, helping me navigate through the waters of my return and keeping Amos off my back when it comes to signing a permanent contract. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but they need you in gorilla. Amos wants to go over a few things for tonight.”
Noah straightens, placing a hand on her back to guide her down the hall, but he stops and looks over his shoulder. “Just think about what I said, huh?”
Only after I nod does he lead her back down the hallway.
When they disappear, I fall back against the wall. Was I really about to tell Noah that I would sign the contract?
Yes.
Had Chelsea not interrupted us, I would have. The thought stirs awake the butterflies in my stomach, and their constant motion makes me nauseous. I haven’t even talked about this with John. I had planned on bringing it up this morning, but he ran off to whatever meeting he supposedly had. What fucking meeting was it anyway?
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I almost ignore it, because it’s probably just my brothers again, but just in case…
The latest message on The Inner Circle chat catches my eye before I close out my phone. Nash asks if anyone has seen Crew or Papá today.
What the hell? It’s four o’clock in the afternoon. They should all be getting ready to come to the arena. I swear, if they are late, I’m never—
“There you are,” John calls from the other end of the hall.
“And there you are,” I say, stuffing my phone into the pocket of my leggings, ignoring whatever problem my brothers have going on. One problem at a time.
John doesn’t hesitate to pull me into a kiss, and it melts some of my resolve to be upset with him. No, not upset. Concerned is a better word. In the past, we did our best to maintain a professional relationship backstage and at most events—we kept our hands to ourselves, never kissed (okay,almostnever), and checked personal lives at the door (for the most part). We slipped up a few times, but we agreed the respectable thing to do was to keep our relationship at work just that: work. But now, his lack of hesitation to pull me straight into a kiss when anyone could walk around the corner and find us in a secluded part of backstage tells me this time, things aren’t going to be the same.
“Where have you been?” I ask when we part. He’s still dressed in his street clothes—jeans and a white button-up—which tells me he hasn’t been here long. “I haven’t seen or heard from you since you left this morning.”
