Chapter 7: The Real Happy Ending

The recording light went dark, leaving them in the soft ambient glow of the studio's overhead lights. Claire's body was still pressed against Zane's, both of them breathing heavily in the aftermath of what could only be described as the most intense recording session of their careers.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The weight of what they'd just done—what they'd just shared—hung in the air between them like a living thing. Claire could feel Zane's heart beating against her chest, could taste him still on her lips, could feel the evidence of their passion cooling on her skin.

"We actually did that," she said softly, her voice carrying a note of wonder.

"We did," Zane agreed, his hands still resting on her waist as if he wasn't quite ready to let her go. "All of it. On tape."

The reminder of the recording sent a flush of heat through Claire's already sensitized body. Hours of audio evidence of their complete loss of control, their transformation from consummate professionals to desperate lovers. It should have been mortifying. Instead, it was thrilling.

"What happens now?" she asked, though she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

Zane's thumbs traced gentle circles on her hip bones, the touch tender after the intensity of what they'd just shared. "Now," he said, his voice soft, "we get dressed. We go home. We pretend like we know what the hell we're doing."

Claire laughed, the sound a little shaky. "Do we? Know what we're doing?"

"Not a fucking clue," Zane admitted, and his honesty was somehow reassuring. "But I know I don't regret it. Any of it."

"Good," Claire said, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from his forehead. "Because I don't either."

They separated slowly, reluctantly, both of them hyperaware of every brush of skin, every lingering touch. Claire retrieved her clothes from where they'd been hastily discarded, acutely conscious of Zane's eyes on her as she dressed. But there was nothing predatory in his gaze—just appreciation and tenderness and something deeper that made her heart skip.

"We still have three more chapters to record," Zane said as he pulled on his jeans, his voice carefully neutral.

Claire paused in the act of buttoning her blouse. "Yes, we do."

"The epilogue. The wedding night scene. The 'ten years later' chapter."

Each title hung in the air between them, loaded with implication. More intimate scenes. More opportunities for their professional boundaries to dissolve completely.

"We could..." Zane started, then stopped, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "We could bring in another actor. Male or female. Finish the project with someone else."

The suggestion hit Claire like a physical blow. The thought of Zane recording intimate scenes with someone else, of sharing that connection with another person, was suddenly unbearable.

"Is that what you want?" she asked, trying to keep her voice level.

Zane's eyes met hers, and she saw her own feelings reflected there—the same possessiveness, the same need to continue what they'd started.

"No," he said simply. "It's not."

Relief flooded through Claire, so intense it made her knees weak. "Then we finish it. Together."

"Together," Zane agreed, but his expression was serious. "But Claire, we need to talk about what this means. For us. For our careers."

Claire sank into her chair, the reality of their situation finally hitting her. They were both respected professionals in a relatively small industry. Word got around. Reputations were everything.

"Are you worried about people finding out?" she asked.

Zane sat down across from her, his expression thoughtful. "I'm worried about you," he said. "About what this could mean for your career if people think you're unprofessional."

The protectiveness in his voice made something warm unfurl in Claire's chest. "What about your career?"

"I'm established. I can weather some gossip." His jaw tightened. "But you're still building your reputation. I don't want to be the reason you lose opportunities."

Claire stared at him, seeing the genuine concern in his eyes. Here was a man who'd just given her the most intense sexual experience of her life, and his first thought was protecting her career.

"Zane," she said softly, "what if I told you I don't care?"

His eyebrows rose. "You don't care about your career?"

"I care about my career," Claire clarified. "But I care about this more. About us. About whatever this is we've started."

Zane was quiet for a long moment, studying her face as if trying to read her thoughts. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that for the first time in my life, I want something more than just professional success." Claire's voice grew stronger as she spoke. "I want to see where this goes. I want to finish recording this book with you, and then I want to go to dinner with you, and then I want to wake up next to you tomorrow morning."

The words hung in the air between them, bold and honest and terrifying. Claire held her breath, waiting for his response.

Zane's answer was to cross the space between them in two quick strides, pulling her up from her chair and into his arms. His kiss was soft this time, tender rather than desperate, full of promise rather than just desire.

"I want all of that too," he said against her lips. "Dinner, morning coffee, everything."

Claire felt something tight in her chest finally relax. "So what do we do now?"

"Now," Zane said, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone, "we clean up this studio, we back up the files, and we go home. Separately."

Claire's face must have shown her disappointment because he quickly continued.

"But tomorrow, we come back and we finish this book. And after we're done..." He smiled, the expression transforming his entire face. "After we're done, Claire Evans, I'm taking you out for the best dinner of your life."

"Just dinner?" she asked, unable to resist teasing him.

Zane's grin turned wicked. "Well, we'll see how dinner goes."

They spent the next twenty minutes putting the studio back in order, saving files, cleaning equipment. It was mundane work, but there was something intimate about it—moving around each other in the small space, sharing glances, letting their hands brush as they worked.

Finally, everything was finished. The recording equipment was shut down, the files were safely backed up, and they stood facing each other by the door.

"This feels weird," Claire admitted. "Saying goodbye after... everything."

"It's not goodbye," Zane said, stepping closer. "It's see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," Claire repeated, but she made no move toward the door.

"Claire," Zane said softly.

"Yeah?"

"What we recorded today... it's going to be incredible. Not just because of the sex, but because of the emotion. The connection. I've never heard anything like it."

Claire felt heat rise in her cheeks. "You think people will be able to tell? That it was real?"

"I think," Zane said carefully, "that we created something authentic. Something that's going to make people feel what Jack and Fiona feel for each other."

"Because we felt it too," Claire said, understanding.

"Because we felt it too," he confirmed.

They looked at each other for a long moment, both processing the magnitude of what they'd created—not just the recording, but the connection between them.

"I should go," Claire said finally, though every instinct was screaming at her to stay.

"You should," Zane agreed, but he reached out to cup her face, his thumb tracing over her lips. "But before you do..."

His kiss was soft, sweet, nothing like the desperate passion they'd shared earlier. This was a promise, a commitment, a seal on whatever they were beginning.

When they separated, Claire felt steadier somehow. Ready to face whatever came next.

"Tomorrow," she said.

"Tomorrow," Zane confirmed. "Same time?"

"Same time. Same studio. Same..." She gestured vaguely between them.

"Same us," Zane finished. "Just us."

Claire smiled, feeling lighter than she had in years. "I like the sound of that."

She gathered her things, gave him one last lingering look, and headed for the door. But before she could open it, Zane's voice stopped her.

"Claire?"

She turned back. "Yeah?"

"For what it's worth," he said, his voice soft but certain, "I think we're going to have our own happy ending."

Claire's smile widened until her cheeks hurt. "You know what? I think you're right."

And as she walked out into the evening air, her body still humming with the memory of his touch, Claire realized that somewhere between the first kiss and the final climax, she'd stopped thinking about this as just a job. This was her life now. Her choice. Her future.

Tomorrow they would finish Jack and Fiona's story. But their own story—Zane and Claire's story—was just beginning. And unlike the fictional romance they'd been recording, this one was entirely real, entirely theirs, and entirely full of possibility.

The happy ending described in the book was beautiful, but Claire was beginning to think their real-life version was going to be even better.