Chapter 7: Identity Crisis

Riley’s POV

By the time I walked into our office building, I felt like a freaking zombie. My entire body felt like it had been walked on by a truck, reversed on, then dragged. My legs were numb and my entire spine felt bruised and injured.

We’d gotten home by 1 a.m. after that PR dinner, and somehow—somehow—Jax still managed to show up at training by 4am like he was running on some voodoo fuel. While I was running on fumes and just one slice of cold toast. How he had the energy to be alive and even train with his coach at the crack of dawn after dragging me to a black-tie event until one freaking a.m.—was beyond human comprehension.

Maybe he was secretly a cyborg. Or just powered by spite and competition.

I yawned and swiped my keycard, praying the door would open so I could quickly collapse into my chair for five seconds before the madness began again. But to my surprise, the door was already unlocked.

What the hell?

My heart rate shot up as I slowly pushed it open. Did someone break in? Was I about to die at the hands of a rogue tennis fan who didn’t approve of seeing Jax and I together at the dinner yesterday.

But nope it wasn’t a fan. Just my favorite nightmare.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, exhaling sharply as I spotted Jax inside my office like he owned it. Which… I guess he technically did.

He didn’t even look up from his phone. “Took you long enough.”

“I didn’t realize we were starting meetings before sunrise now,” I said dryly, dropping my bag on my desk. “Didn’t we just escape a gala seven hours ago?”

“I’m traveling to Spain,” he said, finally lifting those annoyingly clear blue eyes to mine. “I need you to work on my travel itinerary.”

He handed me a folder.

“Travel itinerary?” I blinked, rubbing my temples. “You mean like… plane tickets?”

He arched his brow. “A full travel pack. Flight, hotel, local transport, press activities, dietary arrangements, sponsor events. Or do you not know what that means?”

My teeth ground together. “I do. Totally. I’ll get it done and send it over to you.”

“In three hours,” he added casually, like he’d just asked me to grab a coffee, not architect a travel plan that could rival a NATO operation.

My head spun. “Three hours?” I tried not to shriek. “Don’t you think that’s a bit—”

“I don’t.” He leaned back, arms crossed like this was just another normal Tuesday. “That’s why I gave you a deadline. “I need it ready by eleven. Good talk.”

And just like that, he was gone.

I collapsed into my chair like my bones had melted and immediately snatched my phone out of my bag. If anyone could help me survive this fresh hell, it was the con artist herself.

I scrolled to the FaceTime app and instantly dialed Vanessa.

Her face popped up after the third ring, all glowy and high on vacation joy. "Hey, twinnieee!" she sang, tipping the camera up so I could see her drinking a cocktail next to a pool. On a Tuesday.

"Seriously, Vanessa? You’re sipping piña coladas while I’m one bad email away from a nervous breakdown.”

She pouted dramatically. “Ugh, you’re such a joy killer. Look at the bright side—because of me, you have a job and money!”

“Shut up,” I groaned. “What the hell is a travel itinerary?”

Her expression changed immediately. “Oh no. Did he ask you to—?”

“Yes!” I whisper-screamed. “He said he’s going to Spain and needs a travel pack in three hours. I don’t even know what that means, Vanessa! Why couldn’t you have picked a job that doesn’t require so many skills?! Where am I supposed to start from?” I groaned. What do I look like, Expedia?”

"Shit," she muttered, finally looking concerned. “Okay, okay, don’t freak out. I have a sample file on my laptop from when I almost worked for that Formula One driver. I’ll send it now.”

Of course she did.

A second later, my phone buzzed with an email attachment. I opened it and my jaw nearly fell off. It was a twenty-page document with details on flights, accommodations, local guides, currency exchange tips, meetings, visa requirements. The whole thing was a damn thesis..

“Vanessa,” I hissed, “You expect me to do this in three hours?”

“It’s not that bad,” she said, biting back a smile.

“Then you do it.”

“Fine, send me his info. I’ll knock it out in two hours.”

I almost cried. “Better do or ill be quitting this job faster than you boarded a boat to bali”

I hung up and immediately began typing out all of Jax’s travel details, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I typed out all the details I could find—passport info, flight dates, known sponsors, even the kind of sparkling water he drank like it was liquid gold.

My fingers were hovering over the send button when I heard a sound and looked up to see Jax holding a folder in his hands.

God! Not another work again.

“Can I have it now?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe like he knew he was about to annoy me.

“Have… what?” I blinked.

“The travel pack,” he said, like I was being deliberately slow.

“You said three hours.” I glanced at the clock. “It’s been ten minutes.”

He gave me that smirk—the one that said I’m about to ruin your whole day just for fun. “I just assumed you were done. Since you clearly had time to giggle on the phone during work hours.”

My spine stiffened. “I wasn’t giggling. I was—”

He cut me off with a dismissive wave. “Don’t apologize. For you, it’s always one excuse or the other.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from snapping.

He walked forward and dropped a folder on my desk. “New instructions. I want everything properly planned and aligned to this.”

“Noted, boss,” I said through gritted teeth.

He didn’t respond. Just walked out like he hadn’t just dumped a boulder on my back.

The second he left, I let out a shaky breath. My fingers flew to open the folder—and it was worse than I thought. He’d changed the hotel to a boutique wellness retreat with ridiculous spa treatments and superfood catering. I had to figure out new availability, new press access, new dietary restrictions.

I scanned and sent the entire folder to Vanessa with shaking hands and a single text:

“Fix. This. Please.”

And then I did the only thing I could.

I sat back in my chair, took a long sip of my cold coffee…

…and quietly prayed for a miracle.