Unprofessional (Under editing)

Chapter 27: Safe Haven

 There was a long pause as I began to think back. "Before I knew I was pregnant with Lovey, my older brother threw a glass vase at me. It shattered, and one of the shards was sharp and fast enough to cut my leg. It was deep, and it scarred. I didn't tell my parents about it. Once it healed, I got a tattoo over the scar." I tugged at my jacket, uneasy.

"Jesus," Isaac said, his voice filled with alarm. "What the hell was he so mad about?"

"That's the thing—you never really know with Kai," I replied quietly.

"He just gets mad for no reason?" His brow furrowed as he studied me.

I shrugged silently, unwilling to say more. I'd never told anyone that before and I felt strange that the first person I told was my boss.

"Did your parents do anything about it?" he pressed.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, my gaze falling away from his. "My parents were always... too busy. For me."

Isaac leaned forward, his eyes searching mine. "Are you okay?"

I forced a small smile. "Mmhm, don't worry, I'm fine."

___

November 12
8:23 AM

I step out of my car, adjusting my bag on my shoulder as I head toward the office. Immediately, I notice people staring and whispering as I walk past. My pace quickens, heat rising to my face. What the hell is going on? I push through the parking lot and into the building, keeping my head down. The elevator ride feels like an eternity, the stares and hushed murmurs following me all the way to my floor. Finally, I reach the safe haven of my office.

"What the fuck is going on?" I mumble, dropping into my chair. I power on my company computer, enter my password, and dive into my emails. Work first. Nothing unusual there. I switch to my personal account and freeze when I see a message from Roy Stark.

The name rings a bell. I clicked the email, curiosity piqued.

Subject: Follow-Up Shoot
Body:
Hello Mrs. Zoloman,

I know you must be busy, so I'll make this quick. After the previous shoot, we've seen instant reactions to your photo. I wanted to know if you'd be interested in coming back for another shoot. Additionally, there are several brands actively seeking you out. Don't worry—I haven't shared your personal information (name, age, or whereabouts) with anyone.

Please email me back as soon as you can.

Roy Stark
Producer

Wait, a damn minute. How did Roy even get my email? My mind clicks almost instantly—Jeanette. Of course.

I glance at the clock. Isaac should be in by now, and since he hasn't sent his usual "running late" text, I grab the files from my desk and head to his office. I knock lightly, and his voice calls out, "Come in."

The door creaks open, and I see Isaac on the phone, his voice sharp and edged with frustration. I pause in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt, and end up eavesdropping instead.

"Every damn year," he growls, pinching the bridge of his nose with visible frustration. Yeah, no. I particularly don't want to go, I don't like most people and I'd rather be at home." Issac pauses to let the person on the other side of the call talk. "It only seems sad if you say it like that. Look, I'm coming home for Christmas. Wouldn't that be enough?" He pauses for a beat of silence, then: "Fine. I'll be there. Just stop texting me. Yeah yeah, bye."

Isaac ends the call, clearly irritated. His smokey grey eyes flick up to my brown ones.

"What the hell was that about?" I ask, stepping further inside.