Chapter 39

Serena's POV

The offer caught me off guard - it was far better than anything I had hoped for. But years of business negotiations had taught me to maintain my composure. "That's very generous of you, Eleanor."

"Not generous," she corrected, gathering the designs into a neat pile. "Smart. I recognize potential when I see it, Serena. And what you're showing me here?" She tapped the portfolio. "This is going to be something special."

I studied Eleanor's face carefully, searching for any hint of ulterior motive behind those surprisingly favorable terms. The memory of those photos Ian had sent - showing her and Lucas in what appeared to be an intimate moment at charity event - flickered through my mind.

"These terms are... unexpectedly generous," I said carefully, keeping my tone professional despite my internal wariness.

Eleanor's laugh was warm and genuine as she waved her hand dismissively. "Oh please, business is business. I like keeping things straightforward." She leaned forward, her eyes twinkling. "Speaking of which, Alice can handle the contract signing tomorrow morning if that works for you?"

I nodded, still slightly thrown by her easy manner. Before I could respond further, she suddenly declared, "You know what? Let's celebrate! This calls for a drink."

"Elly," Quinn interjected softly from beside her, ever the voice of reason. "You have that morning scene tomorrow..."

"Not until eleven," Eleanor countered with a grin, already signaling the waiter. She turned to me, her expression brightening. "And please, call me Elly. All this formality is exhausting."

The corners of my mouth lifted despite my reservations. "Then you should call me Rena."

As the waiter arrived with a bottle of wine that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent, I found myself relaxing incrementally. Eleanor sitting across from me was nothing like her carefully curated public image. Where the cameras captured elegance and reserve, the woman before me radiated warmth and an almost reckless authenticity.

Three glasses in, I discovered that female friendship could indeed be forged over good wine and better conversation. Eleanor's stories about her early career had me laughing despite myself, while Quinn's dry commentary added the perfect counterpoint to Eleanor's exuberance.

"You should have seen me in my first commercial," Eleanor was saying, gesturing expressively. "I was supposed to be this sophisticated lady drinking tea, but I kept burning my tongue on every take. By the twentieth attempt, I was ready to swear off hot beverages forever!"

The night deepened around us, the restaurant's subtle lighting creating intimate pools of warmth in our private room. As eleven o'clock approached, I noticed my phone screen lighting up with a message. Lucas's name appeared, as it had every night recently. I turned the phone face down, the familiar mixture of longing and determination washing over me.

"Let me call my driver," I offered, noting how the wine had left me pleasantly warm but still coherent. Eleanor, on the other hand, was practically glowing with good cheer.

"No need," Quinn answered smoothly, already helping Eleanor into her coat. "We're headed in the same direction. Besides, I think someone needs to make sure this one actually makes it to set tomorrow."

"I am a consummate professional!" Eleanor protested, then stumbled slightly as she stood. "Usually."

As I watched their car disappear into the night traffic, I felt my phone vibrate again. Another message from Lucas. My finger hovered over the notification for a moment before I resolutely slipped the phone into my bag. No matter how much my heart ached to respond, some distances needed to be maintained.

Eleanor's POV

The city lights blurred past my window as I pressed my phone closer to my ear, giggling into it with exaggerated triumph. "Lucas, guess what?" I singsonged, my voice carrying the warmth of several glasses of wine. "I actually managed to drink your precious Serena under the table tonight."

I could practically hear his disapproving frown through the phone. It only made me laugh harder, the sound bubbling up from somewhere warm and loose in my chest. "Oh, don't worry... she's fine. Just maybe... a tiny bit more drunk than usual." The words came out slurred, but I wasn't nearly as intoxicated as I was pretending to be. It was just easier this way - playing up the tipsiness, letting everyone think I was just the fun, carefree Eleanor who could drink anyone under the table and bounce back the next morning like nothing happened.

"Mmm... getting sleepy now," I mumbled into the phone, already letting my voice trail off. "Talk tomorrow..." I ended the call and let my head fall against the cool window, maintaining the steady breathing of someone drifting off to sleep. It was a practiced art by now - this ability to seem completely passed out at will. Quinn's soft sigh from the driver's seat told me she wasn't surprised. She'd seen this routine plenty of times before.

The car rolled to a stop, and I heard Quinn's door open and close. I kept my eyes shut, my breathing deep and even. But then I heard another car door slam nearby, followed by footsteps that made my heart stutter in my chest. I knew those footsteps. Even after eight years, I still knew them.

"Eleanor's had a bit too much to drink," Quinn explained, her voice carrying a note of apology. "Would you mind getting her upstairs? I can't quite manage on my own."

There was a pause - just long enough for my pulse to pick up speed - before Jace's low voice responded with a simple, "Alright."

I forced myself to stay completely still as strong arms slid beneath me, lifting me with surprising gentleness. The familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around me, and suddenly I was seventeen again, sitting on the school roof with Quinn under a star-filled sky, my words tumbling out in an excited whisper: "I think I'm in love with him, Quinn. I think I'm in love with Jace."

The elevator ride was silent except for our breathing. I focused on keeping mine steady, fighting against the way my body wanted to react to his proximity. When we reached my floor, his arms tightened slightly, adjusting his grip as he carried me to my door.

He laid me down on my bed with a gentleness that made my chest ache. But instead of leaving immediately, he hesitated. I could feel him standing there, could sense him looking down at me. Then, so lightly I might have imagined it, his fingertip brushed across my lower lip. The touch was feather-soft, almost reverent, and I knew he was thinking about the kiss scene I'd filmed earlier that day. His breath caught, just slightly, and I felt him lean closer.

For one endless moment, I thought he might... but then he straightened up. His footsteps moved away, and the door clicked shut behind him.

Only then did I let the tears slip free, sliding silently down my temples into my hair.