I unplugged my phone and gathered my suitcase, carry-on, purse and computer bag.
When I left the coffee shop, my phone buzzed with several alerts. I realized I must not have had service in the coffee shop, so even after my phone charged, it hadn’t shown my missed calls or texts.
I opened the text from Mia: Hey, doll. I’m having some cramping, nothing major but Travis is insisting I go get it checked out. His brother is going to pick you up.
I quickly typed back: Let me know what the doctor says. And, honestly, I don’t need a ride. I can take an Uber.
I hated that Mia was having cramping but was relieved that she hadn’t made the trip to the airport. I’d always hated inconveniencing anyone. One of my therapists, I didn’t remember which one, had said that it was because I’d always felt like a burden growing up.
My mother left when I was one. She married a Greek shipping billionaire and signed over custody to my father. Which would’ve been fine if he’d had any desire to be a parent. Sadly, that wasn’t the case. So, by default, I ended up living with my grandmother, who forbade me to call her grandma or grandmother because she didn’t want her public associating her with that title.
I visited my father on summer breaks, but he’d barely noticed I was there. I’d never felt like anyone actually wanted me to be around. Which had made me even more susceptible to Gio. I’d felt so special that I was the girl he’d chosen.
I’d just walked out of the terminal when I received another text.
Mia: Everything went fine at the doctors. I’m home resting. He left over an hour ago so he’s probably already there. It’s Jackson, btw.
My stomach dropped to the floor as soon as I read the message. Jackson Briggs was coming to pick me up. The photos I’d seen on Google images when I’d “researched” him after learning he would be coming onto the project popped into my head. He reminded me of Zac Efron’s sexier older brother.
As my mind conjured up pictures of Jackson’s strong jaw covered with sexy scruff, piercing blue eyes, and wavy brown hair, every insecurity that I’d ever experienced came rushing back to me.
Does he know who I am?
Has he watched House of Love?
Has he seen the video?
I’d spent a small fortune in therapy to stop asking myself those questions every single time I met someone. It was the strangest reality to be faced with, knowing any stranger I met could’ve potentially seen me naked. Could’ve viewed the most intimate moment of my life.
It had taken me years to finally get to the point where I believed that other people’s opinions of me were none of my business. Truly. It wasn’t just a platitude that I said to myself.
But in one sexy fell swoop, Jackson Briggs and his rugged good looks had undone all the growth I’d managed to achieve.
I’d known that I’d be meeting him, of course. After a large portion of our funding had fallen through, he’d graciously agreed to be our cinematographer as a favor to Mia, or more likely, to his brother Travis.
And he was doing it for free. Which was amazing, because there was no way that we could’ve ever afforded him otherwise.
Meeting him in a professional setting, with Mia, was so much different than this situation. I’d be meeting him alone. No buffer. Just us.
For years after the scandal, I’d suffered from crippling anxiety and panic attacks. The moment I read the text, the tell-tale symptoms began to manifest in me. A sense of dread and impending doom overwhelmed me. I had shortness of breath as my heart started beating as fast as an Olympic sprinter coming off the block. Everything went blurry as the world spun around me. Or maybe it was me that was spinning and the world was still. I couldn’t tell.
I had to get this under control. The only thing worse than meeting Jackson Briggs alone would be to meet him alone while having a panic attack. That would be humiliating.
In an effort to calm myself I concentrated on the 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 method that one of my therapists had shown me.