Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

When Kaitlyn left the Dawson family home, the early spring air felt colder than usual. Every time she walked out of that place, it was like the weight of the world settled on her shoulders.

Alan had always treated her well-and she owed him for it. That kind of kindness was a debt she couldn't just shrug off.

She gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. Half a year. That's all that was left. Three years had already passed; what was a few more months? Besides, with the way Jackson seemed to hate her, even if he had another three years, he'd never set foot in their so-called marital home.

Maybe that was for the best.

Driving to her studio, Kaitlyn couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The mood today felt tense-like everyone was waiting for bad news.

She turned to her assistant. "What's going on?"

Her assistant blushed, fidgeting with her phone. "You know that movie we signed onto with the director? The investors just switched. The new backer's a big deal— like, way out of our league. Their rep is here and wants to talk with you."

Kaitlyn's eyebrows drew together. She only managed six artists-none of them stars, just bit parts in films. But movies were the fastest way for them to move up, and she'd worked hard to build good relationships with a few directors. She couldn't afford to mess that up, and she definitely couldn't afford to lose the investors.

Some days, she really was just another person struggling to keep her job.

She pushed open her office door and stopped short. Sitting in her chair, flipping through a magazine, was Jackson.

He didn't even look up at first-just lazily turned a page, like he owned the place.

She started to smile out of habit, but the second she realized who it was, her smile vanished.

Jackson raised an eyebrow. "You don't look thrilled to see me."

Kaitlyn wondered if something she'd said last night had set him off. Normally, a guy with his ego wouldn't bother chasing her down.

She glanced at the director hovering beside him.

The director grinned, eager to make introductions. "Kaitlyn, this is our new investor. We're in luck-Jackson's got money to burn. Says he'll up the budget, but wants to personally approve your artists' acting first."

Kaitlyn shot the director a look. Did he really think this was normal? Since when did investors show up to audition actors themselves?

But she'd worked with this director for years. They were practically friends now. She could only take a deep breath and roll with it.

The director leaned in, voice low and urgent. "I had no choice. You know how powerful the Dawsons are, right? Once Jackson got involved, all the other investors bailed. We spent months kissing up to them, and now no one else will touch the project. We just have to see what Jackson wants."

Jackson didn't have to hear their whispers to know what was going on. It was obvious: he was too much trouble, and his presence had scared everyone else away.

Not that he cared. That was just business-the weak get trampled.

He leaned back in her chair, perfectly at ease, waiting for them to finish.

The director wiped sweat from his forehead and quickly made his exit, leaving just Kaitlyn and Jackson in the room.

She stared at him, waiting.

Jackson gave her a lazy wave. "Funny running into you here. Didn't we just see each other last night?"

Kaitlyn tried to keep her voice calm. "Jackson, what do you want? This is just a small studio. Can't you give me a break?"noveldrama

He fiddled with a fountain pen her fountain pen, actually—his long fingers making it look like something elegant.

"Give you a break?" he repeated.

"After hearing I'd worn out my welcome figured I'd come see what kind of people you're working with. We're all just outcasts here, right? Didn't you say you were sick of everyone in your studio, too?"

She'd only said that last night to make herself sound unappealing hoping he'd lose interest. Jackson was the type who, if he wanted a long-term fling, would only go for someone pristine. '

She never expected him to show up here and certainly not like this, so in control.

Jackson stood and walked over, looming above her.

"What, nothing to say? Or was I right—you're not really married, are you?"

She frowned. "I am."

"Prove it. Show me your marriage certificate."

She pressed her fingers to her temples, suddenly tired. "It's at home. Who carries that stuff around?"

“Great,” he said. "Then take me to your place. Let's see it for ourselves."