CHAPTER 31

 

Alright, we’re getting close to the finish line! Just five (or six) more chapters to go, and then I’ll be drawing the curtain on this blog. I’m planning to post the rest of the story over the next two weeks, so if you’re still here, hang tight!

Big thanks to everyone who’s stuck around, I appreciate you more than you know. 🩵

See you soon, and have an awesome day or night... wherever you are! 

Chapter 31

The second Michael’s foot hit the pavement, the air around him crackled, and just like that chaos erupted.

A tidal wave of flashing lights crashed into him, cameras clicking like rapid gunfire, shutters snapping so fast they blurred into one deafening roar…

Flash. Flash. Flash.

It was like walking straight into a lightning storm, the bright bursts searing through his vision and prickling against his skin. But Michael didn’t flinch. He never did. This was his world, his bread and butter.

Instead, he straightened his spine, his fingers moving on autopilot, fastening the buttons of his jacket with practiced ease…

He hated this part… the red carpet, the gauntlet, the never-ending sea of photographers screaming at him like starved seagulls. But he had no choice but to walk through it.

“Michael! Over here!”

“Michael, look this way!”

“How’s London treating you?”

“Who are you wearing tonight?”

The words barely registered. He scanned the crowd, his face a perfectly curated mask, his smile just wide enough to be convincing and just empty enough to be effortless.

Another flash.

Michael tilted his head slightly, giving them a better angle.

More shouting.

A wall of noise.

And then, one voice sliced through it all, sharp and deliberate.

“Hey, Michael! What’s going on with Lisa? You two still together?”

His stomach twisted. Just for a second.

Don’t react. Don’t give them anything.

He swallowed, letting the silence stretch just a little too long... No words. Just enough to let them wonder, to let them spin their own stories.

He couldn’t care less…

Then he turned, flashing another hollow smile and throwing them another photo before he moved on.

A few more steps, a few more flashes, and then, Michael gave a sharp nod, his silent signal that he was done, and walked inside.

The second he crossed the threshold of the arena, the tension in his shoulders eased a little as the noise outside faded, swallowed by some chatter and the clinking of champagne glasses…

The Brit Awards. Of all places.

Michael couldn’t help but roll his eyes…

The venue stretched before him, massive and extravagant, a playground for the rich and famous. Round tables draped in deep red and black velvet filled the space, surrounded by cushioned chairs. The stage at the far end glittered under soft golden lights, the kind of glitzy, over-the-top spectacle that made everything feel even more fake…

What the hell was wrong with him? These events used to be his day-to-day, his regular grind… So why in the world was he feeling so damn jaded now? He should have been stoked, right? Grateful even, for getting an invite to this high-end circus…

But there he was, with only one thing on his mind — bailing out.

Michael scanned the room.

Some seats were already filled … Some familiar faces, and some less so.

Women draped in dresses that shimmered like liquid diamonds, men in suits worth more than some people’s houses. It was a show. All of it. Gilded bullshit.

A young stagehand, probably fresh out of college, hurried up to him, eyes wide with barely contained excitement.

“Uh, Mr. Jackson… this way, please.”

Michael just nodded and followed, weaving through the maze of tables until the kid pointed at one.

“You’re seated here, sir…” He said, voice nearly swallowed by the buzz of the growing crowd and Michael nodded again, not bothering to check who he would be stuck with for the night.

Elton John? James Blunt? Didn’t matter. He just had to survive a few hours of mindless small talk, pretend smiles, and empty compliments before he could disappear. Go home and breathe.

He sank into his seat with a quiet sigh, his fingers reaching for the decorative silver pen in front of him. Pointless thing. Just another prop in the perfectly curated illusion of wealth and elegance. He twirled it absentmindedly, watching the light catch on its surface, his mind already drifting.

The noise around him faded and then, just like that, Michael looked up.

And there she was.

Amelia.

And she looked… breathtaking.

She was wearing a floor-length, strapless dress, turning heads as she walked… his included. It wasn’t over-the-top, just effortless, the kind of look that made it clear she knew exactly the effect she had.

Her hair was up, but not in that stiff, overdone way… just loose enough for a few strands to slip free and frame her face, softening her look. Michael’s eyes dropped to her lips, deep red and striking against her skin and just as he noticed, she ran her tongue over them, slow and absentminded, before she smiled, revealing her perfect white teeth.

She scanned the room, and then… she noticed him too and her lips curved into a small smile. Michael gave the slightest nod back, casual, his eyes slowly moving from her to the man by her side.

Just some guy who could have walked straight out of a high-end whiskey commercial. Older. Tall. Silver fox. Probably that husband of hers who can’t seem to locate the laundry basket…

Michael caught the way the guy leaned in, said something low in Amelia’s ear and she laughed, while  he tightened his grip on the pen in his hand, looking back down at it, his mind slipping back to that weird night… The one where Amelia had shown up at his place to talk about the photos…

 

 

The news had hit him like a sucker punch… Michael barely processed Amelia’s words at first, too busy trying to wrap his head around the sheer weight of what she was saying...

The contract was supposed to be a game-changer, but all he could think about was how everything in his life could flip upside down in the blink of an eye…  Until he felt it.

Amelia’s hand.

Her fingers rested lightly on his forearm, like they had been there for a while, like she had been talking to him while he was off in another universe.

A slow, absentminded caress.. Congratulatory, maybe, but there was something about it that felt wrong.

His eyes flew to hers and when he finally met her gaze, there was something there that made him feel uneasy...

"That's what you wanted, right? I knew it was. You so deserve this, Michael."

But he barely heard her. His eyes locked back onto her hand, and suddenly, the air between them felt heavier, like an invisible thread was tightening around him.

He watched as her fingers hesitated for half a second and then, to his surprise, she just smiled, and with a wink that sent a strange chill down his spine, she slowly pulled back, her eyes fixed on him.

“Don’t tell anyone yet.” She added, her grin turning sly. “This is just between us for now, alright? I wouldn’t want to get in trouble… or worse, get you in trouble.”

“Yeah, no worries…” He muttered, though his voice didn’t sound as steady as he wanted it to and Amelia seemed to notice, of course.

“Another drink, then?” She asked, light, easy, but it sounded almost like a challenge. “We should celebrate, don’t you think?”

The urge to move, to put some distance between them, hit him before he even processed it and his body acted first, pushing him up and away from her.

The bar became an escape, a reason to turn his back and to focus on something other than the woman sitting there with him in the middle of the night, making him nervous and jittery for some reason.

He reached for the Glenfiddich, fingers not quite steady as he poured two glasses, the sound of whiskey hitting glass sharp in the silence.

Michael barely had a second to breathe before he felt something and with a slight startle he realized it was her hands at his waist.

God, he hadn’t even heard her move! One moment she was across the room, on the couch, the next she was behind him, close enough that he could feel the faint warmth of her body, her fingers pressing lightly, shifting him aside like he was in her way…

“Sorry, just need some ice…” She murmured, smooth and easy. “I like it on the rocks, you know?"

Yet, she didn’t move like she was actually sorry and didn’t sound like it, either. She made it seem so normal, sliding past him like they had done this a thousand times before but hey! They had not!

Michael turned, too slow, too stunned, but by the time he faced her, she was already busying herself with the ice bucket as if nothing had happened.

Her gaze flickered up, catching his, something amused dancing in those eyes of hers and Michael exhaled slowly and handed her the glass.

Amelia took it without hesitation, without a word, just that same unreadable smile playing at her lips before she walked back to the couch, sinking into it with easy confidence, like she owned the room.

But this time, Michael didn’t follow and he didn’t sit back down next to her, either.

Instead, he took a few steps and perched on the arm of the chair, keeping just enough distance to watch her, wary now.

And Amelia noticed.

Something in her expression shifted and the teasing glint seemed to dull, and just like that, she was back, polished and professional, like nothing had happened at all.

Much later, long after midnight, long after the whiskey had settled into his bloodstream, Amelia stood, smoothing her jacket, ready to leave. Michael walked her to the door, his hand resting on the knob, but she lingered, just for a moment and then, she reached for him.

A simple touch, her fingers brushing his collar, smoothing out the faint crease like it mattered and before he knew it, Amelia was leaning in, slow and deliberate, closing that last bit of space between them.

A kiss. Barely there, just a soft touch against his cheek and just when he thought it was over, she swiped a thumb over the spot like she was wiping away a lipstick smudge.

He took a small step back and cleared his throat…

“You take care, Michael…” She murmured, her voice low, laced with something almost affectionate, but not quite. "Thanks for the whiskey."

After Amelia had left, he had tried to shake off that weird feeling that lingered after all those subtle jabs, the light touches, the kiss and her perfume wrapping around him like a trap.

He had gone to bed, hoping sleep would do its thing and shut his brain up… But surprise, surprise… no such luck.

He stared at the ceiling. Tossed. Turned. Once, twice. Over and over, replaying the whole damn weird conversation in his head.

The way she had glanced at him or the way she had casually asked about Lisa’s bracelet. And that comment about long distance? What the hell was that even about?

Amelia was supposed to be a pro. The best at what she did but something about that night had really rubbed him the wrong way…

She hadn’t outright crossed a line or something like that but she sure as hell came close. Like she was pushing at the edges, testing, seeing just how far she could go before something snapped.

And the worst part?

Michael couldn’t figure out if he had imagined the whole thing or not. What if he was just reading into things and twisting them into something they weren’t?

And then there was the contract… If Amelia hadn’t lied, if she hadn’t been playing her little weird game he was still trying to figure out, they were going to offer it to him and now, it sat in his mind like a weight.

Two fucking years.

It was all he wanted and then some but it was also too damn long to stay away from Lisa.

But what choice did he really have? This tour was huge. And he needed the money, bad.   Plus, the production company was the best of the best and every artist dreamed of having a contract with them… including Michael.

The hours dragged on, and no matter how much he shifted, how many times he flipped his pillow, sleep refused to come. At some point, he must have drifted off — maybe for an hour or two, at best — because the next thing he knew, the sky had shifted to that cold, gray-blue of early morning and with a groan, Michael rolled out of bed, exhaustion sinking deep into his bones…

He spent the morning with the kids, having breakfast and talking, before their tutors arrived and the “school day” started, and then, as soon as the kids were settled into their lessons, he finished his coffee and headed to his study.

He pulled out his chair, ready to drown himself in some stupid paperwork for a few hours, when his phone rang.

“Mr. Jackson, it’s Simon Harrington from the Silverline Productions. I assume you're busy, but we need to discuss an important matter. Is there a chance you would be available to come in this morning?”

His heart skipped and for a second, he wasn’t sure what to feel.

“What’s this about?”

“It’s regarding your contract and the possibility of the tour. We need to review the next steps. Please come in at your earliest convenience.”

“Okay, I… I can be there in about two hours.”

“Perfect. Thank you, and we’ll see you shortly.”

The line went dead with a dull beep, and Michael sat there for a moment, phone still in hand, staring at the wall like it might offer him some kind of answer. The conversation kept running through his head, looping in his mind no matter how much he tried to push it away. He dragged a hand over his jaw while he let his eyes fall shut for a second but then he exhaled and his eyes snapped open again.

Sitting there wasn’t going to change anything.

He pushed himself up and made his way to the bathroom, turning the shower knob until the water came on, filling the quiet around him. Steam curled into the air almost instantly, swallowing the mirror in a thick haze as he peeled off his clothes and stepped under the spray.

Minutes passed, though he didn’t keep track and by the time he turned off the water, the bathroom was thick with fog, the air damp and heavy but Michael reached for a towel and rubbed it over himself quickly, barely paying attention.

He pulled on a black shirt, black jeans, and a dark suit jacket — nothing too fancy, but he figured it would do even for a meeting like that…

Snatching his phone off the nightstand, he shot off a quick message to his driver, before tossing the phone onto the bed with a soft thud as he turned to gather his things.

Within minutes, the familiar black car was waiting outside and Michael slid into the backseat without a word, watching as the countryside melted away behind him. The quiet lanes and rolling fields slowly gave way to clusters of old brick buildings, then to the hustle of the city, the streets busy and alive.

The rain came in a steady drizzle now, blurring the headlights and washing the streets in a dull shimmer but Michael barely saw it… The car pulled up to the Silverline’s building, rain streaking down the windows as Michael stepped out adjusting his cuffs, rolling his shoulders, and then he walked inside.

In the elevator, he watched the numbers climb and when the doors finally parted, he was immediately greeted by a young receptionist, her eyes bright with recognition.

“Mr. Jackson, welcome.”

Her nervous smile spoke volumes.

Starstruck.

Michael offered a small smile, just enough to put her at ease and then, he extended a hand. She hesitated for half a second before taking it, her grip light, fingers trembling slightly.

“No need for the formalities…” He said softly. “Call me Michael. And if I start acting too important, just remind me I still don’t know how to make a playlist on my iPod.”

Her laugh was awkward but warm and she nodded so fast it was almost comical.

“Okay. Got it.” Then she pressed her lips together, blinking rapidly, processing, maybe panicking just a little. “Wow. I swear I had a whole professional greeting planned, and it just left my brain. Anyway, if you’d like to follow me, they’re already expecting you.”

Michael nodded and followed her down the corridor and she paused at a glass door, offering him a hesitant smile.

“Good luck.” She said and Michael smiled, giving her a soft nod before stepping inside.

The room was exactly what he expected… cold, corporate, and painfully sterile. One of those high-end boardrooms where decisions were made, contracts were signed, and people like him got scrutinized under a microscope.

A long table stretched in front of him, and the men seated around it were the usual suspects — suits, expensive watches, the kind of guys who had power written all over them.

They fit in.

Michael, not so much.

But then his gaze landed on a familiar face — Martin Matthews, the executive director. They had worked together before and Michael trusted and respected him. He started toward him, but as he took another step, his head tilted slightly — and that’s when he saw her…

Right next to Martin, like she belonged there, was Amelia and the sight of her hit him like a slap in the face.

What the hell was she doing here? She was his publicist, his press contact and nothing more! This wasn’t her scene.

A knot tightened in his stomach, jaw clenching instinctively. What the hell?

She wasn’t looking at him at first, her attention locked on some papers in front of her, but the second their eyes met, she smiled, soft and perfect as always, almost too perfect, like she knew she really wasn’t supposed to be there.

It was the kind of smile that was half innocent, half knowing, like she was aware of the line she was toeing but before Michael could even begin to make sense of the whole strange conundrum, Martin’s voice cut through the moment, snapping his attention away.

“Ah, Michael, glad you could make it. Have a seat, please.”

Michael swallowed, forcing himself to focus, and took the empty chair at the long, polished table. He barely had time to brace himself before the meeting launched straight into business and when he walked out of that boardroom two grueling hours later, feeling like he had just gone twelve rounds in the ring, he was drained.

It had been freaking brutal… Nothing like what Amelia had promised.

She had painted a picture of a done deal, an easy process, a smooth ride while in reality it had been anything but.

The executives had questioned everything — his reliability, his physical health, his fitness, and even his sobriety… Every aspect of his ability to perform was picked apart, scrutinized like he was some kind of liability waiting to happen.

He couldn’t really blame them, though…

They wanted guarantees, reassurances, conditions. It had been a tug-of-war from start to finish, and by the time it was over, Michael felt like he had fought for every inch of ground.

And yet, he wasn’t about to sign anything. Not just yet, anyway.

“I’m very open to everything we have talked about here but I’ll need my lawyer to go over it first.” He had said, keeping his voice firm while Martin and the others had nodded, some more reluctantly than others.

“Of course.” Martin had replied smoothly. “We’ll wait for the review.”

“And I also need to talk to my girlfriend before I make any final decisions.” Michael had added, looking around the room. “A two-year move to London is a hell of a commitment and I need to make sure it works for both of us. I’m sure you can understand.”

A few exchanged glances, but no one argued. They probably knew they had pushed as far as they could today anyway…

Then some small formalities followed, handshakes, polite nods, and finally Michael was free… He made his way to the door, but just as he was reaching for the doorknob, Martin’s voice stopped him short.

“Oh, and one more thing, Michael.”

“Yeah?”

Martin folded his hands together, that practiced, business-perfect smile plastered on his face.

“There’s one more expectation we need to discuss. Part of the deal.”

Michael sighed.

Here it comes.

“We need you making appearances. Get out there, remind people why they love you, okay? The Brit Awards are this weekend, perfect opportunity to get some buzz going, show your face, shake some hands… It’s already set up. You’ll be there.”

Ugh… He should have known this would be part of it. Of course, it would. But hell, it just dragged up every awful memory of Bahrain, the endless press conferences, the forced smiles, the gala nights that stretched on forever, the award shows where he felt like a puppet on display.

Just thinking about it made his stomach turn.

“It’s not such a big ask, Mike. Give the cameras a smile, shake some hands, and we’re golden.” He added and Michael bit back a groan. He could argue, but what would be the point? The second he signed up for this, he knew they would once again own a piece of him. And right now, they were cashing in.

“Yeah. Fine…” He mumbled, keeping his voice as flat as possible. “I’ll be there.”

Martin’s smile widened, satisfied. “Great. We’ll get everything set up. Talk soon.”

Michael nodded absentmindedly, barely processing it, his thoughts already somewhere else.

He finally turned to leave, but before he could take a step, Amelia was out of her seat like a shot. Graceful as always, smooth and poised but there was also some tension in the way she moved.

“I’ll just... excuse myself, gentlemen…” She said, her voice polite, professional but she wasn’t really waiting for permission. Instead, she was already striding toward Michael and he exhaled slowly closing his eyes…

Dammit.

What did she want from him now?

Well, Amelia didn’t leave him guessing for long and the second they were alone in the corridor, she cut right to it, stepping in front of him, blocking his path.

“What the hell was that?” She hissed, her voice sharp but low enough to keep it private. “Why didn’t you sign? Everything was lined up. That was your win, Michael! You couldn’t have asked for a better deal!”

Her tone grated on him the moment she spoke, like he was some idiot who didn’t know what was best for himself and he narrowed his eyes, the irritation rising in him.

“What’s it to you?” The words came out before he could stop them, a bit sharper than he intended. “I said I need to talk to my lawyer… and to Lisa and I meant it.”

She let out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking her head.

"Are you completely insane? A London residency! Two years of security!! You swore this is what you wanted, so why the hell are you sabotaging yourself now?!" She threw her hands up, exasperated. “You’re really gonna risk it all because of a woman? I thought you were smarter than that.”

The words hit him like a slap, and Michael stood frozen, staring at her in disbelief, before clenching his jaw and exhaling through his nose, doing everything he could to suppress the anger bubbling up inside.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that.” His voice was low, controlled. “You’re my publicist, not my manager, not my friend, and sure as hell not the one making my decisions for me.”

She crossed her arms, her expression unimpressed, not even the slightest hint of flinching at his words. For a long moment, they just stared at each other — a silent battle neither of them was willing to lose, but then, just like that, Amelia rolled her eyes and let out a breath, shaking her head like he wasn’t worth the energy.

“Whatever…” She muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do what you want. You know best, obviously.”

Then she spun on her heel and walked away, leaving him standing there, jaw tight, fists clenched.

What the actual fuck was that?

 

 

Michael got home a couple of hours later, the rain coming down like crazy again and he did that half-jog, half-sprint move people in England must have invented to survive the ridiculous weather, and opened the door.

By the time he got inside, his hair was soaked and his shoes squelching with water even from just running from the car a few yards to the door but as soon as he stepped inside, the chaos in his head took a backseat.

The kids were done with school and waiting for him, faces lighting up when they saw him and for the next hour or so, nothing else existed, just them.

He helped Paris pick up a summer dress though they both knew Lisa would be so much better at it than him, then he let Blanket give him a very serious lesson on how to drive a toy car in reverse, and listened as Prince excitedly explained the intricate details of his latest dinosaur obsession...

As the afternoon stretched on, the kids decided they wanted to watch a movie before dinner, and Michael didn’t argue... He had already had a long day, and honestly, the idea of just kicking back and letting them unwind sounded perfect.

He agreed to the bowl of popcorn they begged for, promising they would eat their dinner afterward, and with a soft smile, he found their favorite movie, pressed play, and watched them scramble to get comfortable.

They spread out across the couch and as soon as their attention was fixed on the screen, he took the chance to slip away. Quietly, he made his way to his study, closing the door behind him with a soft click and he let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair, before pulling out his phone.

He needed to hear Lisa’s voice so bad…

The time difference between London and LA was working in his favor at this hour and he settled at his desk and dialed, the familiar anticipation curling in his chest. One ring. Two. Then, finally…

“Hello?”

Her voice cut through his tension like a breath of fresh air and Michael smiled, closing his eyes for a second.

“Hey baby…” He said, his shoulders dropping a little. “Got a minute?”

“Of course…” She said softly. “How are you?”

“I’m okay…” He exhaled, though it wasn’t entirely true. “Just… I need to talk to you.”

She paused. “About?”

His fingers tightened around the phone. “Us, Lise.”

"Can we skip to the part where you tell me it's nothing serious?" She joked, then cleared her throat. “Okay, I’m listening…”

“So… The meeting I texted you about last night... well, it happened today. And it went… well. Really well. They agreed to everything. Full control, tour, music, press. It’s all in my hands.”

“What? That’s amazing!” She let out a big sigh, clearly relieved. “Told you it’d work out. And the London base!! Baby, you’ll finally get a break between shows! Shit, I’m so happy!!”

He smiled… Lisa wasn’t wrong. He did need all those things… But… But then, the other shoe dropped.

“There’s one more thing.”

“What is it?”

“They extended the contract…” Michael admitted, rubbing a hand down his face. “Two years. They want me here in London for two years.”

Silence. A loaded, deafening pause.

Michael could practically feel Lisa absorbing the hit and the reality of what that meant.

“Two years?” She echoed a minute later, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah.” He swallowed. “I know it’s a lot. But Lisa, this is… ”

“The opportunity you’ve been waiting for... I know it is…”

“Yes, but... But two years away from you? That’s…”

“That’s gonna suck…” She supplied, sighing. “A lot.”

Michael closed his eyes and swallowed hard… The worst part was that she understood. She knew how important this was... And it made it both easier and a million times harder.

“We’ve done distance before…” She reminded him. “We can do it again.”

Michael let out a slow breath, rubbing his temple.

“I don’t think it ever really worked, not the way we wanted it to, anyway… I just don’t want this to change us, Lise. I don’t want to lose you… lose us… in the middle of all this. You’re more important to me than all the money in the world.”

“You won’t lose me…” She said firmly. “I promise you, Michael. I’m not asking you to choose. We’ll make it work. It’s just… the timing sucks, that’s all.”

His throat felt tight. “Yeah, it does.”

A long pause stretched between them again before he forced himself to move forward.

“One more thing…” He said, voice a little rougher now.

“Oh, hit me with the next surprise, why don’t you?” She chuckled and he smiled too…

“The damn Brit Awards.” He muttered into the phone, his voice heavy with frustration. “It’s this weekend, and they want me there. I know you probably can’t come, but… any chance? I’d give anything to have you by my side. I’ll send a plane for you, baby. Just say the word.”

There was a long pause on the other end before she sighed, soft and almost weary and Michael could picture her sitting there, chewing on her bottom lip, trying to find a way to make it work.

His heart sank just a little.

“Shit…” She began, and he could already hear the regret in her voice. “I can’t. My mom’s set up some stupid meeting, and you know how she is. She’ll make my life miserable if I bail on it. There’s no getting out of this stupid thing, really.”

He pressed his lips together, fighting back the bitter taste of disappointment.

“Yeah. Figured.”

“I wish I could just drop everything and be there with you… You know that, right? It’s just that I… can’t.”

He closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. Michael hated the distance and the endless commitments pulling them in different directions, but he really didn’t want to make it harder for her than it already was.

“Yeah, it’s okay… I get it.” He said, though it didn’t come out as convincingly as he had hoped. “You know, I just miss you. Having you next to me would be amazing. It would make everything a million times better.”

“I wish I could come, baby.”

“You’re mine, Lise, and I just want the whole damn world to know it. No more hiding, no more pretending. I’m done with all that.” He paused and bit the inside of his cheek. “When can I see you?”

“Hopefully in about two weeks.” She said, her voice quiet. “Danny will have the kids so I could come for …”

“Two weeks?” He groaned, cutting her off. “That’s too long, girl.”

 

 

Someone bumped his chair, jolting him out of his thoughts.

“Sorry, mate…” A voice muttered in a thick British accent before disappearing into the crowd but Michael barely acknowledged them. He was seconds away from deciding whether to ride out the night or fake an excuse and leave early when the energy in the room suddenly seemed to shift…

Just a subtle change, like an invisible force pulling his attention.

He wasn’t sure what the sensation was, just that it crawled under his skin, refusing to settle and then a voice cut through the static, soft and barely audible over the growing hum of the arena.

“Is this seat taken?”

Oh, so there would be people at his table after all… Just great.

Michael let out a low groan, already bracing himself for a night of forced smiles and awful small talk but still, he shrugged, resting a hand on the back of the chair next to him.

“Sure…”

He grabbed it and moved it back, making space for whoever had just decided to join him at the table but as he did, something caught his eye and then, his heart slammed against his ribs as he turned his head fully and saw her.

Lisa.

She was standing there, framed by the soft golden light, looking like she had walked straight out of his dreams. She wore a beautiful floor-length red dress and his heart stuttered, then it raced and his brain struggled to catch up with what his eyes were seeing…

She was supposed to be in LA!

His body reacted before his mind did… Chair scraping against the floor, he stood so abruptly that some people around startled a bit but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care. Not when Lisa’s eyes found his, and a slow, teasing smile spread across her lips.

“Hey, handsome…” She mouthed and he closed the distance between them and then his hands were on her face, cupping her cheeks and the next thing he knew he was kissing her.

It wasn’t gentle and it wasn’t careful.

No, it was raw, hungry, desperate, a collision of lips and breath, of longing and relief…

Lisa’s surprised gasp melted against his mouth, and he swallowed it, deepening the kiss before he could even think and before either of them could do anything but feel. His lips moved over hers with the urgency of someone who had spent weeks starving, and she was the only thing that could satisfy him.

Michael felt her hands fisting in his suit jacket, pulling him closer and her lips were warm and soft, and they parted just enough for him to slide his tongue against hers, tasting, teasing, taking.

The noise around them faded into a blur of nothing… There might have been cameras flashing, people watching, whispers starting to ripple through the crowd, but Michael didn’t give a flying fuck.

Let them talk. Let them write about this tomorrow.

For once, he didn’t care about the headlines or the PR.

Lisa was here and that was all that mattered.

When they finally pulled apart, their breathing ragged, Lisa’s fingers were still curled into his jacket and she looked up at him, her eyes bright, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen and impossibly beautiful.

“Are you insane?” She whispered, though there was no real scolding in her tone. Only amusement. “In public? Just like that?”

Michael grinned, his hands still cradling her face, thumbs brushing over her skin.

“I don’t give a fuck. You’re here, that’s all I need. Screw everything else.”