Elevator to the Spotlight

Afternoon – Hotel, Pre-Dinner, Elevator

Max and Claire waited by the elevator, voices low, almost conspiratorial, like they were plotting a heist instead of prepping two mildly oblivious actors for a charity event.

“PR sent a note,” Max murmured, scrolling through his phone. “They want us ready for donor questions tonight. Some of them can be… tricky.”

Claire arched an eyebrow, smirk already forming. “And Sophie has no idea. Total blind spot. Classic.”

Max huffed a quiet laugh. “Same for Liam. They’re walking straight in without a clue. Makes the reveal… entertaining.”

Claire crossed her arms. “Sometimes I’m not sure if keeping them in the dark is cruel or necessary. Probably both.”

Max shrugged, leaning back against the wall. “That’s our job description. I brief Liam, you brief Sophie. And tonight, they need to be perfectly aligned. Especially about that photo. If they don’t give the same story, this whole dinner turns into a circus.”

Claire nodded, checking her phone again as if expecting chaos to text her directly. “High stakes. One slip, and the headlines go nuclear.”

The elevator chimed.

Max straightened. “Showtime. Let’s make sure our stars make it through the evening without triggering a PR meltdown.”

Afternoon – In Their Rooms, Prepping

Claire walked into Sophie’s room with the energy of someone who’d already rehearsed the speech three times.

“Sophie, there’s a charity dinner tonight,” she announced, scanning Sophie with a sharp, professional eye. “Big-name donors, media coverage, cameras. And yes… Liam will be there.”

Sophie froze mid-step, like someone had hit pause. “Tonight?” she whispered, throat tightening around the word.

“Tonight,” Claire confirmed, a hint of amusement curling her lips. “We’ll handle the styling. But we need to talk strategy. That photo from set—the ‘moment.’ You and Liam need the same explanation. No deviations.”

Sophie inhaled slowly. “Right… okay. I understand.”

Claire softened just a fraction. “It’s not a big deal. We’re just preventing idiots from inventing stories for clicks.”

Max didn’t bother waiting for permission. He knocked once and let himself into Liam’s room, finding him perched on the edge of the bed, guitar in hand. A low, aching riff filled the space, the kind you only play when you’re thinking too much.

“I’ve got news,” Max said, dropping his phone onto the nightstand.

Liam didn’t look up. “If this is about horses, I swear—”

“It’s not horses,” Max cut in. “Charity dinner. VIPs, cameras, sponsors. You’re required. Sophie too.”

Liam’s fingers stilled above the strings. “Tonight?”

“One hour,” Max confirmed. “Suit’s here. It’s black, simple, and doesn’t sparkle. Calm down.”

Liam sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Amazing. Exactly how I wanted to spend my night.”

Max pointed at him. “Also, you and Sophie need a unified explanation for that paparazzi shot. Same story or we’ll be doing damage control till Christmas.”

Liam stared at the suit lying neatly across a chair. Then at his guitar. Then he tilted his head back like the ceiling had offended him personally.

Finally, he pushed up to his feet. “Fine. Charity dinner.”

In the bathroom, he caught sight of his reflection. Jaw set. Tie in hand. The thought drifted in before he could shove it away:

Sophie’s going to be there.

And that mattered far more than he was willing to admit.

From the doorway, Max called, “Also… her father will be attending.”

Liam shut his eyes like he needed a moment of silence.

“Fantastic,” he muttered.

Evening – Hotel Hallway, Just Before the Charity Dinner

Sophie stepped into the hallway, smoothing her dress, trying to steady her breath—and then she froze.

Liam stood there already.

The suit fit him almost unfairly well, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away. He looked like someone who’d been reluctantly shoved into a magazine shoot.

His eyes lifted. The moment he saw her, something in his expression hit pause.

“Wow,” he muttered, gaze moving over her before he caught himself. “You… look incredible.”

Sophie felt warmth creep up her neck. “You too. I… didn’t expect you to clean up this well.”

Liam tugged at his collar, grimacing slightly. “Trust me, I didn’t either. I feel weird like this. Too polished. I’d rather be in my own stuff. Jeans, boots, shirt. I actually know what to do with my arms in those.”

Sophie laughed quietly, surprised at how much the honesty eased her nerves.
“I get it. People always assume I love dressing up because I grew up around red carpets and interviews. But honestly? Sweatpants win every time.”

Liam’s mouth curved into a small grin. “Let me guess. Your father hates that.”

“He hates most comfortable things,” Sophie said softly, smoothing a wrinkle on her skirt. “But yeah… I’ve been in front of cameras since I was tiny. Doesn’t mean I ever learned to enjoy the wardrobe part.”

Liam looked at her for a moment—really looked. A flicker of understanding passed between them, something simple and grounding.

Then he cleared his throat, as if remembering why they’d stepped out of their rooms in the first place.
“Right. About the photo at the ranch.”

Sophie nodded. Her shoulders tensed again. “The brush.”

Liam huffed a breath, the ghost of a smile forming. “Yeah. The same damn brush. We both reached for it. Hands touched. That’s it. Totally innocent.”

“Simple,” Sophie echoed. “Coordinated. Clean.”

But even saying it out loud didn’t erase what lingered between them—the real memory, the one that made her chest tighten and his voice soften without permission.

The kiss.

Unscripted. Reckless. Still simmering under both of their ribs.

Max appeared at the end of the hallway like a man summoned by tension alone.

“Great,” he said, eyeing the space between them. “You two look decent and suspiciously synchronized. One story. The brush. Innocent. If either of you improvises, I’m faking a medical emergency and leaving.”

Liam lifted his hands. “Relax. We got it.”

Sophie nodded. “Professional. Consistent.”

Max pointed at them. “And maybe cut the staring contest. People will talk.”

Sophie laughed, nerves dissolving just a bit. “Alright, we’ll behave.”

“For now,” Liam added under his breath, a small smirk tugging at his mouth.

Their eyes met again anyway.
Charged. Soft. Impossible to ignore.

Sophie’s fingers brushed her dress once more before she straightened. “Ready?”

Liam adjusted his cuffs, exhaling slowly. “Ready. One story. And the world doesn’t need to know how much I miss my normal clothes.”

She smiled. “We’ll survive.”

Side by side, they walked toward the ballroom. Cameras waited. Donors waited. Her father waited.

But between the polished surfaces and rehearsed lines, a quiet truth followed them:

They were both far more themselves in worn-in clothes
and far less prepared for each other than either dared admit.