Text Me When You Miss Me

Chapter 1

Cedrick

The ice in my whiskey glass clinks against the crystal as I swirl the amber liquid, my fingers drumming impatiently on my desk. The shitstorm swirling around Thorne Productions is a goddamn hurricane, and if I don’t get ahead of it, my reputation—no, my empire—is going to crumble faster than a cokehead’s resolve at an afterparty.

The door swings open, and my assistant, Elliot, pokes his head in, looking like he just walked into a funeral.

“They’re not letting up,” he mutters, holding up his phone where headlines flash like fucking neon signs.

CEDRICK THORNE: HOLLYWOOD’S BIGGEST MANIPULATOR?

IS THORNE PRODUCTIONS AN ENTERTAINMENT GIANT OR A GLORIFIED PIMP SERVICE?

I grit my teeth and toss back the rest of my drink, the burn doing nothing to soothe the rage boiling under my skin. This isn’t just bad press. This is a goddamn execution—Alexa’s long, manicured claws are all over this mess.

I slam the glass onto my desk. “We need a solution. A distraction that will take off the public's attention from this news.”

Elliot shifts uncomfortably, adjusting his tie like that’ll save him from my shit mood. “The PR team suggests a full transparency campaign. Maybe an exclusive interview—”

“Fuck that,” I cut him off. “I’m not sitting in a goddamn chair, blinking into a camera while some journalist asks me if I ‘regret my choices.” 

I rub my jaw, the five o’clock shadow scraping under my palm. “We need a story, something that makes people forget all about Alexa’s bullshit. There's no way I'm explaining to anyone about my choices." 

I lean back, thinking, calculating, my mind running through every Hollywood-tested, damage-control move in the book. A scandal kills a scandal, but this time, I need more than a quick PR stunt—I need a goddamn fairy tale.

A slow grin spreads across my face as the idea locks into place like the final piece of a power play.

“We’re giving the world a Cinderella story,” I say, voice smooth as silk.

Elliot blinks. “A… what?”

“I’ll find a woman—someone unexpected, an outsider. She’s gonna be my fiancée, my muse, the woman who ‘changed’ me.” I gesture in the air. “We make it a whirlwind romance, we give them the love story of the decade, and every scandal in this town will get buried under the sound of wedding bells.”

Elliot’s eyes flicker with reluctant admiration. “That’s… insane. But it might work.”

“Of course it’ll work,” I say, already pulling out my phone. “We just have to find the right girl. I already have one in mind. It will be like hitting two birds with one stone.” 

______

The bass throbs through the floor, rattling my chest as I settle into my VIP booth, drink in hand. The club is packed—LA’s finest and filthiest grinding, drinking, and losing themselves under the neon haze. I scan the crowd, looking for potential candidates, but all I see are the same recycled faces.

Too desperate. Too fake. Too famous.

Like a goddamn movie scene, I spot her. The woman I came here for.

Veronica Logan.

She doesn’t belong here, that’s what makes her stand out. 

She’s not in some painted-on dress, not wearing thousand-dollar heels. She’s in dark jeans, a simple top, sneakers—unbothered by the glitz and grime around her.

Her hair’s pulled up, exposing the delicate curve of her neck. I catch the glint of a tattoo at her nape. But it’s her eyes that hook me—sharp, unreadable, like she’s three steps ahead of everyone in the room.

She’s talking to some guy, but she’s not really with him. She’s watching him, measuring him. I know that look. It’s the look of a predator playing prey.

I like it.

I lean toward Elliot. “That’s her?” 

It’s the first time I’m seeing the legendary hacker in the flesh. She’s here for a job per my friend's information. 

He follows my gaze and taps at his phone. A moment later, he smirks. “Veronica Logan. Freelance programmer, cybersecurity specialist. Hacker.” He pauses. “She’s good—like, really fucking good. Major companies have been sniffing around her, but she doesn’t sell out.”

I let that sink in. A hacker. A genius. A woman with secrets. I’ve been hearing rumors about this woman in the corporate circle. 

Years ago, she swept the circle with her hacking skills but eventually she stopped for unknown reasons and has been doing odd jobs ever since, no hacking of some sort. 

What a waste of perfect talent but that’s the reason why I’m here. 

I grin. Perfect.

I stand, drink abandoned, and make my way through the crowd toward her. The guy she’s with sees me approaching and immediately shrinks—smart man. I barely acknowledge him as I slide into his space.

Veronica tilts her head, eyes flickering with curiosity, not intimidation. “And here I thought Hollywood royalty only graced the VIP section.”

Her voice is smooth, no hint of starstruck awe, no giggling flirtation. Just sharp and knowing.

I smirk. “I make exceptions for interesting people.”

She lifts a brow. “You don’t even know me.”

I lean in, dropping my voice. “Oh, I know enough. I know you don’t belong here, but you’re here anyway. I know you’re watching more than you’re dancing. I know,” I flick my gaze to the phone in her hand, “that you’re reading people the way I read contracts.”

Her lips part slightly, but she doesn’t react—not outwardly, anyway.

Smart girl.

“So, what do you want, Mr. Thorne?”

“Cedrick,” I correct smoothly. “And what I want, Veronica, is to make you a deal.”

She scoffs, stepping back slightly. “Not interested.”

I expected that.

I slide a business card onto the bar beside her drink. “Read it before you say no.”

She glances down. Not a company logo. Not a title. Just a number.

My personal number.

Her brows knit together for the first time. She doesn’t like not knowing the game before she plays.

I step closer again, my voice low, intimate. “You need something, Veronica. I happen to have what you need. My number will come in handy.”

I don’t need to check if she pockets the card.

“Call me,” I say, and then I turn, leaving her standing in the neon glow.

I already know she will.