Point Of View 2 [*Do not read until you've read the same chapter of ATW]

Chapter 192 Free Falling

A breath I didn't realize I'd been holding escapes...half a laugh, half a sob. Then a full-on laugh.

"I bet that's what Jonah's thinking right now, too." I smile over at Evan, who is trying to cheer me up.

"Oh, for sure." He laughs, and his shoulders relax a little. "He has an alarm set for it."

I laugh again, but it fades quickly. "Do you think there's something else out there? For me? I mean, if Nate doesn't need me. If he's taking a break from being "America's Heartthrob."

Evan doesn't hesitate. "Something yours? Absolutely."

I blink. "Even if I've spent half my life orbiting someone else's?"

He shrugs. "Then maybe it's time you became the center."

I give a dry laugh. "Right. Trisha Banks...center of the universe."

"You joke," Evan says, "but you're the one who kept Nate from unraveling half a dozen times. That's a job in itself. He's still going to need you. He won't know how to pay his bills or order food for himself."

"You're not lying there." I scoff.

"And if he doesn't need you, find someone who does."

Silence lingers for a moment, heavy but oddly not awkward, despite the way we're now locked in this gaze.

"Trish," he says with a grin, "you've booked multiple international tours and got a rockstar to eat his vegetables as a kid. He's not gonna leave you high and dry. If anything, I should be the one worried about my employment with Nate.. If he's taking a break, he doesn't need a bodyguard, does he?"

"Yet you don't seem worried."

"Because I'm not. Everything falls into place. Did I ever imagine Paul Rossi would call me to offer me a job as head of security for THE Nate Hollan? I was hustling two jobs at two different nightclubs at the time and still not making what I'm making right now."

"You were a nightclub bouncer?" I raise my brows.

"Among other things. But not just ANY night club bouncer. I was the head of security for The Vault."

 My eyes widen instantly. The Vault? That's not just any nightclub...it's the nightclub. The kind of place that doesn't bother with velvet ropes because it's so exclusive. It's where platinum artists, A-list actors, and fashion elites just exist...no introductions needed. 

The Vault is high-end, hyper-curated, and somehow manages to be both electric and elegant. It's the only spot where champagne flows like water, but the bartenders still know your name and your drink. You don't stumble into The Vault. You have to be invited. And if you're seen there, you're seen as somebody.

From the moment you walk in, you're smacked with luxury. The entrance is deliberately discreet, tucked behind a minimalist facade that gives no hint of the spectacle within. Once inside, it feels like stepping into a cinematic dream Every corner feels photogenic.

 And the bar? Oh, it's not just a bar...it's a chemistry lab where mixologists wear tailored suits and concoct drinks so personalized you swear they read your soul. The cocktails are garnished with edible gold or ice cubes infused with rare botanicals. Not kidding. The place is insane. This ain't no Sullivan's Tap. If you're blessed enough to be a bartender there, you're walking home with hundreds...yes, hundreds of dollars in tips per shift.

I have only been there a handful of times myself. All occasions involved dragging a drunken Nate Hollan out to take him home.... Usually having to peel a girl... or ten... off his damn lap. Never have I been invited to experience the place for myself.