The world squished into the seismic shockwave that erupted from the stadium, the crushing strength of Jett's arms, and the searing heat of his lips. Once a far-off hum, the crowd's roar grew into a clamour of shouts, gasps, and the unrelenting whir of a thousand camera lenses. Scarlett was engulfed, caught in a tumultuous mixture of fear and joy. This was not public relations. For millions of people, this was unadulterated, unbridled emotion. There was a deafening silence when Jett finally broke the kiss, his breath ragged, his eyes still burning with an almost feral intensity. Paul, a hideous representation of helpless fury, stood motionless, his face a mask of incredulity and complete shame. Grim-faced, Jett's security detail moved quickly, encircling the stunned couple in an impenetrable phalanx and leading them with practiced urgency to a secret exit. Paul and his flunkies were the target of Jett's low, growling voice, "Get him out.""And ensure that he never again comes in cont
A phenomenon was "The Morning Show's"afterglow. Their interview had been a masterwork of public relations, a masterful display of vulnerability and growing love. Once dubious, media outlets now praised them as a model of surprising contemporary romance. "JettandScarlettForever"went viral on Twitter, and fan art of their "meetcute"at the motel was all over the place. Scarlett's already successful firm received a tonne of calls, confirming her status as an industry expert and demonstrating that Paul's disparaging comments about her abilities were completely baseless. But in the silence, the distinctions became almost invisible. When no one was looking, the compelled camera touches turned into persistent caresses. Beyond the performance, there were shared looks that were infused with a sincere curiosity and a subtle, indisputable tenderness. Originally debriefings, dinners at Jett's large, minimalist apartment had become relaxed, friendly gatherings. They spoke for hours on end, shari
Scarlett felt the cold dread from Paul's email harden into a knot in her stomach. His threat was more than just an annoyance; it was a weapon that was precisely calibrated to explode their meticulously crafted reality. Every major media outlet had received the anonymous email, which was now verified to have come from a burner account linked to Paul's former assistant a desperate, irate person who had since vanished.By Monday morning, Scarlett's integrity and, consequently, Jett's judgement would be brutally dissected in the news cycle. Scarlett proclaimed, "This is an allout assault,"as she paced her office like a lioness in a cage.
In a flurry of exuberant shouts and blinding flashes, the world burst into chaos. Every logical idea and every painstakingly planned public relations campaign was destroyed by the flaming brand that was Jett's lips on hers. It was a defiant, possessive claim, not a professional gesture. The force of his presence, the firm pressure of his mouth, and the taste of him were all overwhelming. Unbidden, Scarlett's hands had reached up to seize his shoulders in an attempt to find a fulcrum in the dizzying whirlpool of sensation. Then it was over, just as suddenly as it had started. Jett withdrew, his chest heaving, his turbulent, dark eyes meeting hers. The cacophony of the crowd, the whirring of the cameras, and the irate retreat of Paul's figure all vanished into a distant hum in that split second. All that was present was the unadulterated electric current that throbbed between them, a silent, powerful recognition of a boundary that had been not only crossed but completely destroyed.
An incessant reminder of Scarlett's delicate equilibrium, the hum of the phone call coming from the hallway was a dull thrum against her tense nerves. Jett's closeness had been a seductive, perilous warmth that had suddenly vanished.She observed his broad back as he paced, his flirtatious energy giving way to a rigid tension, his voice a low, urgent murmur. The nearkiss still caused her own body to hum, a strong echo that added to the startling sense of the situation's cold reality. This was a high-stakes performance, not a game, and the curtain was about to rise on a much more difficult act. Jett usually exuded an easy charm, but when he finally returned, his face was grim. "That was my agent,"he declared, his voice lacking its characteristically light-hearted tone. "The 'complication' I mentioned."Scarlett felt her stomach tighten. "What is it?"she asked, not showing any signs of the anxiety wriggling inside of her. He gestured his frustration by running a hand through his dark,
In the abrupt emptiness he left behind, Jett's cologne's lingering aroma was an intangible presence, a phantom limb. With her lips burning and her fingers still tingling from the phantom brush of his skin, Scarlett stood rooted. The kiss. It was more than a simple "professional thank you"; it was a seismic tremor that broke down the well-built barriers surrounding her heart. What was that? A calculated action to see how strong she was? Or something much more perilous, something real concealed behind layers of calculating charm? She let out a tremulous breath and ran a hand through her hair. This complexity was unprecedented. Instead of melting into his arms, she was meant to control his image. She had vowed to be strictly professional. But her resolve was mocked by the memory of his dark, knowing eyes. She was deeply involved. deeper than a crisis in public relations. The days that followed were a flurry of activity, a tornado of favorable press coverage that validated her bold appr