Chapter 332

Josh's Point of View

The conference room of Louis Vuitton's Paris headquarters buzzed with anticipation. Their entire marketing team sat across the massive table, watching Sara's portfolio display on the screen behind me. Every photo showcased her transformation from promising newcomer to unstoppable force in the fashion world.

My chest swelled with pride I had no right to feel. This was her moment, her triumph. I was just the man making sure she got paid what she deserved.

"Three million for a one-year exclusive contract," Pierre, their marketing director, offered. "Plus bonuses for special events."

I kept my expression neutral despite my racing heart. This was it, the breakthrough contract that would establish Sara as a top-tier model internationally. Everything we'd worked toward.

"Five million," I countered smoothly. "Plus creative input on campaign concepts and first right of refusal on events."

Pierre's eyebrows shot up. "That's more than we pay our current faces."

"None of your current faces generated the media buzz Sara did at Paris Fashion Week." I pulled up the engagement statistics. "Her social media following tripled overnight. Every magazine wants her. Every brand wants to be the one that launches her international career."

As if to prove my point, my phone buzzed with another offer, Chanel this time. They'd been circling ever since Sara's runway triumph.

"Three and a half million," Pierre tried.

"Four and a half," I replied. "Non-negotiable. And we need an answer today. Other houses are waiting."

The marketing team huddled together, whispering urgently in French. I caught phrases like "perfect image" and "fresh perspective" mixed with concerns about the budget.

My phone lit up with a message from Sara: "How's it going? Should I start practicing my French?"

The simple text made my heart clench. I could picture her waiting anxiously at the hotel, probably pacing like she did before big shows. The urge to rush back and comfort her felt overwhelming.

But that wasn't my role. I was her manager, nothing more. No matter how much I wanted...

"Four million," Pierre interrupted my dangerous thoughts. "Final offer. Plus all creative considerations and a guaranteed spot opening our next fashion week show."

I pretended to consider, though inside I was already celebrating. This was better than we'd hoped for.

"Deal." I extended my hand. "Send the contracts to our legal team today."

As they filed out to get paperwork started, I finally allowed myself a real smile. Sara had done it. All her hard work, all her grace under pressure, it had paid off beyond our wildest dreams.

I pulled out my phone to share the news, then hesitated. This moment deserved more than a text. She deserved to hear it in person, to see how proud...

No. Professional distance. That's what kept us both safe.

But before I could type a message, the conference room door opened. Sara stood there, stunning in a white sundress, her face flushed with nervous energy.

"I couldn't wait at the hotel," she admitted. "I needed to know..."

"You should be resting before tomorrow's shoot."

"Josh." The way she said my name still made my pulse skip. "Please. Just tell me."

I tried maintaining professional composure. "The contracts are being drawn up. Four million plus creative input and-"

Her squeal of delight cut me off as she launched herself into my arms. The familiar scent of her perfume surrounded me as she hugged me tight.

"We did it!" She pulled back just enough to beam at me. "You did it! I can't believe..."

She trailed off, finally seeming to realize our position. My hands had instinctively settled on her waist. Her face tilted up toward mine, joy making her even more beautiful than usual.

For one dangerous moment, I let myself imagine closing that small distance. Tasting her smile, sharing her triumph properly...

"Mademoiselle Brown!" Pierre's voice shattered the moment. "Wonderful timing! We must celebrate!"

I stepped back quickly, rebuilding my walls. Sara's eyes held a flash of hurt before she turned to greet the marketing team with professional charm.

They insisted on opening champagne, toasting her future with the brand. I watched from the corner as she charmed them effortlessly, already winning hearts in rapid-fire French.

My phone buzzed, a message from Mom: "Did you tell her yet?"

Tell her what? That watching her succeed made my heart feel too big for my chest? That every smile she gave someone else felt like a knife twisting? That I was slowly going crazy maintaining this professional facade?

"Contracts signed," I replied instead. "Four million."

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

I ignored the message, focusing on Sara as she discussed campaign concepts with the creative team. She'd come so far from that nervous girl at her first shoot. Now she commanded rooms without effort, her inner light drawing everyone into her orbit.

"Join us, Josh!" she called, holding out a champagne flute. "You earned this celebration too."

I accepted the glass but kept my distance. Her eyes tracked my movement, that same hurt flickering before she masked it.

Professional. Safe. Distant. The words became a mantra as I watched her shine.

But later, alone in my hotel room, I pulled out the contract draft. My fingers traced her name on the signature line, remembering how it felt to hold her in that moment of pure joy.

A knock on my door made me tense.

"Josh?" Sara's voice came soft but determined. "We need to talk."

I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to let her in. To let all my careful walls crumble.

"It's late," I called back. "We can discuss details tomorrow."

A pause, then quietly: "I wasn't talking about the contract."

My hand hovered over the doorknob. One decision. One moment that could change everything.

Professional or personal. Safety or risk. Head or heart.

What would it be?