Hollywood Hustle & Heart
Chapter 5 - Jenna
Chapter 5 – Jenna
I couldn’t believe it had only been two weeks. Two weeks of phone calls, meetings, scripture texts, and somehow... clarity. My career was finally leveling up. Next week, I’d be stepping onto the set of a new reality show, and the nerves were starting to creep in heavy. I’d already met the production team and even had a sit-down with Laura Mason. Real down-to-earth woman—no Hollywood fluff, just purpose and peace. And like Mike, she talked about her faith like it was the air she breathed. No pretense. No filter. It threw me off in the best way.
I’d been flipping through the Bible, trying to stick with it even when the verses didn’t make sense. But one verse hit different. Proverbs six verse seventeen—God hating hands that shed innocent blood. It messed me up. Took me right back to that cold clinic when I was sixteen. I didn’t beat myself up anymore—not fully—especially because it wasn’t even my choice. My mother had made the decision for me. Still, the scripture lingered, pressing heavy on my chest.
I wiped at a tear in the rearview mirror before it had a chance to fall. Maybe God was trying to say something. Maybe that verse wasn’t for condemnation—but for healing.
Hey Jenna. Take your time, but I got here a little early. Grabbed us a table. See you soon.
Mike’s text came through like a breath of fresh air, softening the tightness in my chest.
I couldn’t explain it—what we had. I knew he treated all his clients with care. I saw it for myself at the mixer he hosted last week, bringing us all together at his crib in Sherman Oaks. But when that L.A. wind hit and I started to shiver, he wrapped a blanket around me like he’d been doing it his whole life. It wasn’t just what he did—it was how he did it. Gentle. Intentional.
Still, I was from Philly. I knew better than to read too deep into things too fast. That’s how you ended up blindsided. But I couldn’t deny the way his daily prayers, his “just checking in” texts, and those little winks made me feel. It wasn’t just business anymore. At least, not to me.
I pulled up to the cozy coffeeshop in Inglewood—one of those lowkey gems where creatives go to vibe out and breathe. The smell of espresso and fresh baked croissants welcomed me the moment I stepped inside. Mike waved me over.
“Hey, lady,” he said, standing to give me a hug.
I held on tighter than I meant to. He rubbed my back, then let go too fast. My body screamed to lean back in, but my mind checked me quick. Chill, girl. He’s your manager. Don’t get caught up.
Except that’s exactly what I did.
For the next hour, we didn’t even talk about the show. No contracts. No business. Just life. He asked about my family—my mom, my sister—and then, outta nowhere, he asked me about my heart. Like… who does that? I wasn’t even sure how to answer.
“I just want you to know I respect our relationship,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “But I can’t help but feel like I was called to help you with more.”
He reached across the table and placed his hand over mine. “Is this okay? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek. Emotions were rising up fast, and I didn’t want to cry again. But he made it feel safe, like I could drop the act and just be.
“Can I ask you something?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Of course,” he replied, lifting his hand slightly.
“I was reading Proverbs six today and... I saw that verse. About shedding innocent blood.” I paused, swallowing hard. “I don’t want to be judged.”
His hand returned to mine, firmer this time. “Never.”
And just like that, I opened up. I told him about the abortion. About my mom. About how I’d tried to move on but hadn’t fully healed. Words tumbled out like they’d been waiting years to be said.
When I finished, Mike stood, walked around to my side of the booth, and wrapped me in the kind of hug that held no agenda—just presence.
“You didn’t have to tell me all that,” he whispered. “Thank you. I’m so sorry your mother forced you into that. My prayer is that God begins to heal those wounds. That He shows you how to forgive her… and yourself.”
I broke down, the kind of crying that leaves you lightheaded and raw. “How do I even repent?” I asked through tears.
He prayed with me right there, soft and strong, like a man who knew who he was in God and wasn’t ashamed to share it. Then he lifted my chin gently so our eyes met.
“Jenna, I don’t know why God keeps putting you on my heart, but I want you to know—I’ll never let anyone hurt you again. I’ve been asking Him what all of this means, because… I think about you. A lot. And I don’t want to cross any lines.”
I understood what he was saying. The world was wild right now. Boundaries mattered. But so did honesty.
“I appreciate that,” I said. “But truth is… I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night at the mixer.”
The energy shifted. His smile widened just a little. “Glad to know I’m not alone.”
He paused, then leaned in. “How about this—let’s go with the finder’s fee, cancel the contract. I’ll take the percentage from what we already did. There’s no way I can pursue you like I want to while you’re my client.”
I blinked. My stomach flipped. “Pursue me?”
“Yeah. I’m young, but I’m traditional. I want to date you—for real. My brother says I haven’t always dated with purpose, but I told God if He sent me the one, I’d do it His way.”
My heart clenched. “Mike… I’m not the woman for you. You’re deep into your faith, and I’m just... trying to figure it out. Isn’t that unequally yoked?”
He laughed. “Look at you, quoting scripture. Yeah, kinda. But you’re open. You’re growing. And trust me, God can work with that.”
I looked at him, really looked at him. His eyes were steady. His voice, sure. My brain was shouting all kinds of “slow down,” but my spirit? It was whispering go.
“Look,” he said softly, “we all got something. I got father wounds. You got mother wounds. But God can still teach us how to love through it.”
That word love hit me like a shiver. The good kind—the kind that wraps around your spine and settles deep in your chest. I wanted to fight it, but I was tired of fighting everything good in my life.
“What if it doesn’t work?” I asked.
He leaned in. “But what if it does?”
His lips hovered, respectful. Waiting. So I made the move. I kissed him. Gently. Fully. And it wasn’t fireworks—it was peace. I tasted the butter from the bagel he’d been eating. He tasted my lip gloss. We laughed. We kissed again. And something in me exhaled for the first time in years.
He pulled me close, pressing me to his chest. His hand stroked my face like it belonged there. I laid my head against him and closed my eyes.
How in the world did I find a job and love in just two weeks?