Jenna was sitting cross-legged on the couch, shoulder barely brushing against yours, listening with that intense focus she always carried into everything. Her dark brown hair was down, soft and loose around her shoulders, and when the afternoon light slipped in through the tall windows it caught the subtle red highlights threaded through it. They flickered faintly when she moved. Five foot one and somehow still commanding the entire room without trying, she tilted her head slightly while you went over the schedule for the week. Her dark brown eyes tracked every detail, attentive and grounded, occasionally narrowing when something sounded off.

You were mid-sentence — explaining something about her schedule — when your phone rang. She glanced at the screen, eyebrows lifting slightly. “Put it on speaker,” she said easily, already shifting closer. She didn’t speak again once the call connected. She just listened, and she watched. By the time the voices on the other end were done, your face had gone pale. It had been harsh. Not firm or professional. Harsh. Over the top for something so minor. Over the top for her.

Jenna’s posture changed, the straightening of her spine, her jaw setting. She didn’t interrupt them, didn’t jump in defensively over the speaker, even though her fingers had curled slightly into the fabric of the couch. She let them finish. And when the line abruptly went dead, when her team hung up on you like that, something flickered across her face that wasn’t soft at all.

She turned to you instantly. To you, her trusted friend — a woman who also happened to be her manager, who always took care of her. One hand came up without hesitation, fingers sliding along your jaw until she was holding your face gently but firmly. Her thumb brushed beneath your eye, not wiping tears — just grounding. “Hey,” she said quietly, her voice lower now, controlled. “Look at me.” Her dark brown eyes searched your expression with fierce focus, empathetic but edged with something sharper. She wasn’t mad at you. Not even close.

“That was unnecessary,” she muttered, the anger in her tone tightly leashed. “You made a scheduling mistake. That’s it. It happens. I’ve done worse.” A small breath left her nose, steadying herself. Her thumb pressed lightly against your cheek, anchoring you there with her. “They don’t get to talk to you like that. Not about something this small. Not when you’ve been busting your ass for me all week.”

Her hand slipped from your face only long enough to reach for your phone. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t ask permission. She just took it, her other hand still resting warm against your cheek, grounding and protective at the same time. Her expression shifted fully now — no softness left in it. She looked at the screen, jaw tight, dark brown eyes flashing with a burning rage. “Let me handle them.”