Marcus reaches out again

A few days passed.

Veronica’s post had done exactly what she intended — it made things undeniably public in her world. The worst of the gossip had quieted down, and most of her regular community had been surprisingly supportive once they saw we were actually together and not just some random hook-up. She was still getting sponsorship offers, some of them genuinely good.

Then Marcus reached out again.

This time his message was longer. He’d seen the selfie. He said it changed things — in a good way. It showed authenticity. It showed that Veronica wasn’t just chasing clicks or controversy. He believed she had real long-term potential and wanted to talk seriously about representation.

Veronica showed me the message while we were having coffee in the kitchen. She read it out loud, then set her phone down and looked at me.

“What do you think?” she asked.

I leaned back against the counter, thinking it over.

“I think it’s your career,” I said honestly. “Your choice. But if you’re going to do this properly… having someone in your corner who knows the industry might help. Especially now that things are getting bigger.”

She nodded slowly, chewing on her bottom lip.

“It would mean more meetings. More decisions. Probably more public stuff. And it would mean people knowing even more about us.” She glanced at me. “About you.”

I stepped closer and rested my hands on her hips.

“I’m already in it,” I said. “Whatever you decide, I’m here. If you want to sign with him, we’ll deal with whatever that brings. If you don’t, that’s fine too. This is your thing.”

Veronica looked up at me for a long moment, then reached up and cupped my face.

“You’re really okay with all of this?” she asked quietly. “The exposure. The attention. Me suddenly having an actual career because of what happened between us?”

I thought about the warehouse. The HR meeting. The way my mates had joked before they realised it was me. The way everything I thought was stable had cracked open in the space of a week.

Then I looked at her — standing in my kitchen in one of my shirts, coffee in one hand, looking at me like my answer actually mattered.

“Yeah,” I said. “I am. Because it brought me here. With you.”

She smiled, small and real, then leaned up and kissed me.

“I’m going to think about it,” she said. “Properly. Talk to him. See what he’s actually offering. And I want you there for the conversations that matter. If that’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

She rested her forehead against mine for a second.

“We’re really doing this, huh?” she murmured.

“Yeah,” I said. “We are.”