Chapter 19 Rejection and Release
Melissa’s POV
“We regret to inform you that your application for the position of public relation manager has not been successful at this time.”
I stared at the email on my laptop screen. Then I groaned so loudly Aria probably heard me three floors down.
“Fifth time!” I wailed to my empty room, flopping back on my bed like a dramatic theater kid. “Fifth. Fucking. Time.”
My phone buzzed with rejections I hadn’t even opened yet:
Brooklyn Nets: We’ve decided to move forward with other candidates…
New York FC: Your portfolio shows promise, however…
“However WHAT?” I grabbed my pillow and screamed into it.
This was my dream to be a PR and maybe get my hands on all
Those juicy sports events photos. Working with professional teams. Capturing those perfect moments of triumph and defeat. And I was good at it…my portfolio proved that.
But apparently not good enough.
I felt tears prickling behind my eyes, hot and frustrated. My nose started running because of course it did. I was the kind of person who got a runny nose when she cried, which just made everything worse.
I grabbed a tissue from my nightstand and stuffed it up my nostril like some kind of deranged tissue-plug solution.
My fluffy pink headband…the one that made me look like a five-year-old getting ready for bed…sat crooked on my head from my dramatic flopping. I caught my reflection on my phone screen.
With a tissue up my nose my pink fluffy headband. Oversized sweatshirt with a stain from this morning’s coffee. Pajama shorts with little clouds on them.
I looked absolutely ridiculous.
“This is my life now,” I announced to no one. “A professional rejection recipient. Future cat lady. Tissue nose-stuffer.”
The worst part?
I could just ask Gavin.
The thought made me want to scream into my pillow again.
He owned the New York Titans, the best of the absolute best. He owned THREE OTHER FRANCHISES. He probably had all the connections I needed. One word from him and I’d have interviews lined up.
But I couldn’t ask him.
Because everything between us was weird and wrong and complicated. Asking him for help felt like admitting something I couldn’t afford to admit.
“Stupid stepfather,” I muttered, pulling the tissue out of my nose and tossing it in the trash. “Stupid successful, well-connected, unfairly hot stepfather who has to own exactly the industry I want to work in.”
My laptop sat open on my bed, still showing that rejection email.
I stared at it for another minute, letting the frustration build. The disappointment. The helplessness of wanting something so badly and having no control over getting it.
Then I closed the email tab.
And opened a different document.
The file was titled “Untitled Document 3” because I wasn’t creative with file names. But inside was something I’d never admit to anyone…not even Aria.
My secret project. My guilty pleasure. My completely mortifying hobby.
I wrote eroticas.I posted under the username “MidnightConfessions” on a fiction site. I wrote whenever I got inspiration. And lately? Inspiration was hitting me hard and frequently.
I scrolled to where I’d left off last night:
His hands gripped her waist, pulling her against him with barely controlled force. She gasped, feeling every hard plane of his body through her thin dress.
“Tell me to stop,” he growled against her neck.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“You should.”
“I know.”
But neither of them moved. Neither of them pulled away.
I read it over, my face heating.
I took a deep breath and started typing, letting the frustration from those rejection emails fuel something else entirely. Something I couldn’t have in real life but could create on the page.
He lifted her onto the desk, scattering papers she’d pretended to work on. It was his office, his space and definitely his rules.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, but his hands told a different story. They slid up her thighs, pushing her skirt higher.
My fingers flew across the keyboard. This was wrong. So wrong. I was literally writing about…
No. Not about him. About a fictional character. A stranger. Someone who just happened to have ice-blue eyes and strong hands and a voice that made her knees weak.
Complete coincidence.
She knew this was forbidden. Knew they’d crossed lines they couldn’t uncross. But when he looked at her like that…like she was the only thing that mattered in his carefully controlled world…she couldn’t bring herself to care.
“What do you want?” he asked, his voice rough.
She should say nothing. Should leave. Should remember all the reasons this could never happen.
Instead, she pulled him closer.
I typed for twenty minutes straight, pouring all my confused feelings into words on a screen.The want I couldn’t admit.
When I finally stopped, I had three new pages. It was raw and messy and probably terrible, but mine.
I read through it once, my heart pounding. Then, before I could second-guess myself, I posted it.
Within minutes, comments started appearing:
User_BookLover: OMG THE TENSION
NightOwl_Reader: I’m DYING. When are they actually going to…
RomanceAddict47: This is the hottest thing I’ve read all week
I closed my laptop quickly, my face burning. I was about to sleep when I got a text from Aria.
Aria: Dinner tonight? I need to tell you about the Vincent Kane follow-up!!
Me: Yes please. I need to get out of this house.
Aria: Everything okay?
I glanced at my closed laptop. Steering at my phone once more.
Me: Define okay.
Aria: That bad huh? We’ll get wine.
Me: Make it two bottles.
I stood up, stretching. Maybe I’d go for a run to clear my head.
A knock on my door made me jump.
“Melissa?” It was mom’s voice. “Are you in there, sweetie?”
“Yeah! Just a second!”
I yanked off the ridiculous headband and tried to smooth my hair. Then I made sure that there was no tissue hanging from my nose.
“Come in!”
Mom opened the door, smiling. Then her expression shifted to concern. “Have you been crying?”
“What? No mom, it's just slight allergies.”
“Your eyes are red.”
“It’s allergy season.”
“It’s November.”
“Late-blooming allergies?”
She didn’t look convinced but didn’t push. “Well, I have good news that might cheer you up. Gavin mentioned the Titans need a new PR in their media department. Since you have been trying really hard I thought…”
My stomach dropped. “Did you ask him to find me a job?”
“What? No, honey. He brought it up at breakfast this morning. Said they’re hiring and thought you might be interested given your major…”
“I don’t need his help.” The words came out sharper than I intended.
Mom blinked. “I didn’t say you did. I just thought you’d want to know about the opportunity.”
“Well, I don’t.” I crossed my arms. “I can find my own jobs.”
“Melissa, I don’t understand why you’re being so hostile about this. Gavin is trying to…”
“I know what he’s trying to do.”
The words hung in the air between us.
Mom’s expression shifted to something I couldn’t quite read. Concern mixed with confusion. “What does that mean?”
My heart pounded. I’d said too much.
“Nothing. I just… I want to get jobs on my own merit. Not because of connections.”
“That’s admirable, but networking is part of how the industry works…”
“I said no, Mom.”
Silence stretched between us. Awkward and heavy.
“Okay,” she finally said, her voice careful. “If that’s how you feel. But the offer stands if you change your mind.”
She left, closing the door softly behind her.
I stood there, my chest tight with guilt and frustration.
He was offering me exactly what I wanted. But accepting would mean seeing him every day. Working under him. Being near him.
And I already couldn’t trust myself around him.