Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You-Chapter 108: Bonus Story: Hailey

Hailey

Today is a big day for me.

My phone rings just as I’m arranging my portfolio for the hundredth time.

"Ms. Haley Jameson?"

"This is she. Who am I speaking with?" I ask.

"This is Vivian Chen from Luxe Magazine." The woman’s voice is crisp and professional. "I’ve been reviewing the photographs you submitted last month."

My heart skips a beat. Luxe is one of the top fashion magazines in the country. I submitted my portfolio on a whim, never actually expecting a response.

"Your urban street style series caught my attention," she continues. "Particularly the contrast work in the rain-soaked models against the neon backgrounds. It’s exactly the aesthetic we’re looking for in our September issue."

I grip the phone tighter, trying to sound calm while my free hand clutches at my desk for support. "Thank you, I’m glad you liked them."

"Liked them? Ms. Jameson, we’d like to offer you the feature spread. Ten pages, full creative control, with our top three models. It pays eight thousand, plus expenses."

The room seems to tilt. Eight thousand dollars? That’s more than I’ve made in photography all year.

"Are you still there?" Vivian asks.

"Yes! Yes, I’m here. That sounds incredible."

"Good. We’ll need you in New York next week. I’m emailing the contract over now. Our creative director is particularly excited about working with fresh talent."

After we hang up, I stand frozen for several seconds before letting out a scream that probably alarms my neighbors. I’ve been shooting weddings and pet portraits for two years, scraping by while dreaming of something bigger. And now Luxe Magazine. Luxe! They want my vision, my style.

I have to tell someone. With shaking hands, I grab my phone and scroll to Sarah’s number. My brother’s wife has always been my biggest cheerleader, even when my parents thought photography was just a phase.

The phone rings five times before she answers with a groggy, "Hello?"

"Sarah! You won’t believe what just happened!" I’m practically shouting.

"Hailey?" Her voice is thick with sleep. "What time is it?"

I glance at my watch. 7:15 AM. Shoot. With the adrenaline pumping through me, I completely forgot how early it is.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

"Mmm, yeah." I hear rustling on the other end, like she’s sitting up in bed. "Hold on, let me... where’s my... what day is it?"

"It’s Tuesday," I say, trying to contain my excitement while she gets her bearings.

"Tuesday," she repeats slowly. "Right. Tuesday. Ok, I’m awake. Sort of. What’s happening?"

"Luxe Magazine called. They want me for their September issue. A ten-page spread, Sarah! With creative control!"

"Wait, what?" Her voice sharpens with sudden clarity. "The Luxe Magazine? The one you’ve been obsessing over since college?"

"Yes! And they’re paying me eight thousand dollars!"

Sarah lets out a shriek so loud I have to pull the phone away from my ear. "Oh my god, Hailey! That’s incredible! I knew it would happen for you!"

"I’m freaking out. They need me in New York next week. I have to find someone to cover my wedding shoot on Saturday, and I need to figure out what to pack, and—" freёnovelkiss.com

"Slow down," Sarah says, now sounding fully awake. "First things first. We’re celebrating tonight. I’m making reservations at Emilio’s. My treat."

"Sarah, you don’t have to—"

"This is major, Hailey. Your big break! Matthew will watch the baby, and we’ll have a proper girls’ night. I want to hear every detail."

As we talk, I pace my small apartment, the reality of what’s happening slowly sinking in. New York. Luxe Magazine. My photographs in the hands of millions of readers.

It’s everything I’ve dreamed of—and more.

~-~

The week flew by in a blur of preparation. I updated my portfolio, packed and repacked my camera equipment, and tried on every outfit I owned at least twice. Sarah helped me pick the perfect "professional but creative" look for my first meeting with the Luxe team.

Now, as my rideshare crawls along the highway at a snail’s pace, I check my phone again. 10:42 AM. My flight is at noon.

"How much longer to the airport?" I ask, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

The driver glances at me in the rearview mirror. "Hard to say with this mess. Looks like a multi-car pileup ahead."

I crane my neck to see past the sea of brake lights stretching before us. In the distance, emergency lights flash, and traffic funnels into a single lane.

"Is there another route we could take?"

He shakes his head. "Not at this point. We’re boxed in."

My stomach knots as I check the flight status app. Still on time. Of course my career-making opportunity has to collide with the worst traffic jam in history. I quickly text Vivian:

Stuck in traffic due to accident. Might be cutting it close for my flight.

Her response comes fast: Keep me posted. First meeting is tomorrow morning, so as long as you’re in NY by tonight, we’re good.

I take a deep breath. I can do this. I have to.

Ten more minutes pass without a single inch of movement. My heart pounds harder with each second. The digital clock on the dashboard ticks over to 10:57 AM, mocking me.

"This is impossible," I mutter, refreshing the app again.

When I glance up, more emergency vehicles have arrived. The driver sighs. "Looks like they’ve closed another lane. We might be here for an hour."

An hour. The word slams into me like a punch to the chest.

"I can’t miss this flight," I say, mostly to myself. "I just can’t."

Something in me snaps. I grab my camera bag and portfolio without thinking.

"I need to get out," I say, fumbling with my seatbelt. "How far are we from the airport?"

"About three miles, but—"

I’m already tossing cash at him. "Keep the change!"

Before he can respond, I throw the door open and stumble onto the shoulder. The summer heat slams into me, but I barely register it. I scramble over the guardrail and down the embankment to the sidewalk that runs parallel to the highway.

My boots slap against the concrete as I run, camera bag bouncing painfully at my hip. Honks blare behind me from the sea of gridlocked cars. I must look completely insane—a woman in a blazer and boots sprinting down the road with an oversized portfolio under one arm.

But I don’t care. I’m not missing that flight.

"Three miles," I gasped to myself. "You can do three miles."

But I wasn’t a runner. Half a mile in, my lungs were burning and sweat plastered my carefully styled hair to my forehead. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I couldn’t stop to check it.

A stitch forms in my side, sharp as a knife. I slow to a pained walk, gulping air.

"Need a ride?"

I turn to see a motorcycle idling alongside me. The rider flips up his visor, then pulls off his black helmet. A familiar smile greets me, framed by tousled brown hair that looks effortlessly charming.

His eyes sparkle with mischief, and that crooked grin of his is enough to make anyone’s heart skip a beat. "Josh?" I gasp between breaths, my mind flashing back to the first time I saw him.

Even then, his boyish charm and easy laughter had left me smitten. Josh Daniels—Sarah’s childhood friend—is looking at me, smiling wide, and I can’t help but blush.

Jeez... what is wrong with me?

"Hailey, right? What the hell are you doing running on the highway?" His eyes crinkle with amusement.

"I have to—" I wheeze, "—catch a flight. Career-changing opportunity. Traffic’s dead."

Josh glances at my sweat-soaked blazer and the bulky portfolio tucked under my arm. Without hesitation, he reaches into his saddlebag and pulls out a spare helmet.

"Hop on. I’ll get you there."

"I’ve never been on a motorcycle," I admit, eyeing the sleek machine warily.

"First time for everything. Sarah would kill me if I let her sister-in-law miss her big break." He winks.

I hesitate only a second before strapping on the helmet. Josh helps secure my portfolio in his saddlebag and shows me where to put my feet.

"Hold on tight," he says as I climb on behind him.

I wrap my arms around his waist, the leather of his jacket pressing against my cheek as he revs the engine. We weave through the standstill traffic, slipping between cars with a precision that both terrifies and exhilarates me.

The airport appears on the horizon, and Josh picks up speed. My heart races—but not just from the ride.

We pull up to the departures terminal at 11:23. I dismount on wobbly legs, my hair a wild mess beneath the helmet.

"I don’t know how to thank you," I say, handing the helmet back to him.

Josh grins as he retrieves my portfolio. "Buy me dinner when you get back from New York. Tell me all about your fancy magazine shoot."

I feel a blush creep up my neck that has nothing to do with my impromptu sprint. "It’s a date," I say, then immediately wonder if I’ve been too forward.

But Josh’s smile only widens. "I’ll hold you to that, Hailey Jameson."