Crystal parked her blue Sedan in the space opposite the twenty-four-story building—tall enough to command attention, each floor stacked neatly over the next in a steady rhythm of windows lined with silver panels.
Owned by GOATASTE.
Maria's workplace.
Traffic streamed past between them, cars zipping back and forth in front of the company's massive gate, it's edges lined with neatly trimmed greenery.
"This is it, Christian," Crystal said, staring out through the tinted window without turning to him in the front passenger seat.
"What if it's just a rumor?" Christian asked.
Crystal frowned, irritation flickering.
She hated how his doubt cut through her already victorious thoughts.
"Christian," she exhaled, turning to him, "I'm having a terrible week. I've had no leads except discovering my ex-friend is now a full-time social climber and information hoarder. The last thing I need right now is doubt."
"Sorry," he said, lowering his head.
"Did you reach out to the reporters who represented us at their launch?" She asked, facing forward again.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "James and Gina. Gina took most of the official pictures, so she has access."
"And we're one of the magazine sponsors, right?" Crystal asked.
"Yes. Publication is over the weekend and should be ready for distribution by Monday."
"Perfect," Crystal said, a smile forming. "You'll be volunteering as a distributor—you already know that. You have the entire weekend to practice instant familiarity with people, especially the staff in the main office floor. Understood?"
"Yes ma'am."
"And," she added, turning as he fiddled with his fingers, "You cannot afford to lack confidence—especially when poking for information."
He nodded again.
Crystal rolled her eyes and faced forward. She needed someone more professional, not an intern—but the other reporters might steal the story, so she had no choice but to work with Christian's availability.
She could have gone in herself, but Maria would recognize her. And that would disrupt the smooth flow of information she needed.
It had to be Christian.
**
Miles opened his eyes, sinking deeper into the cotton sheets as the doorbell rang.
The room was still dark—he assumed night had already fallen.
He'd fallen asleep after his morning bath. The cool weather and the soft sway of the long white curtains drifting through the open windows hadn't helped.
With heavy eyes, he reached for the bedside lamp and turned it on.
Warm light filled the room as he pushed himself up and walked to the mini walk-in closet, grabbing a pair of cream joggers.
He paused at the mirror, briefly ruffling his messy hair before pulling them on, not bothering with a shirt.
He crossed the dim living room only lit up by the television screen and approached the door.
The door cam revealed Daniel in a brown jacket over a black shirt and jeans.
Behind him stood Dahlia in a short green dress and Jennifer in cream rompers and heels at the door—dressed for a night out.
Miles rolled his eyes. Yesterday had been exhausting, but he had promised Daniel the weekend.
Then a thought sparked, which was perfect.
He could use tomorrow to make it up to Maria for spoiling her launch.
Make sure her happiness didn't stall for another weekend.
He opened the door.
Daniel stepped in almost immediately, followed by Dahlia, who smiled warmly, and Jennifer, who openly eyed him like a snack.
"Finally," Daniel said, dropping into one of the grey couches.
"I thought you'd hold on a little after the launch, little bro," Miles muttered, closing the door.
"Nah," Daniel replied. "The launch didn't exactly do much for my mood."
Miles' jaw tightened as he turned toward them.
Dahlia and Jennifer had already settled on the larger sofa facing the fifty-inch television, where football played silently.
"I'm sure Maria would have loved to be with us here today," Dahlia said.
"Dahlia, darling," Daniel sighed, "don't let the launch fool you about Maria. It is mostly Miles' help driving that project. Isn't that right, big bro?"
Miles boiled internally, only fixing his stare directly on Daniel.
Was he baiting him?
Dahlia shifted, sensing the tension.
"Well, it's easy to tell what she's about from first glance," Jennifer added with a chuckle.
"I'll go get ready," Miles said, already turning away.
"Ooh," Jennifer sprang up, "let me help."
"No," he said—but she followed anyway.
This time, he didn't stop her.
Miles flicked on the taupe lights in his room and walked into the closet.
His reflection greeted him first in the mirror opposite the entrance—then Jennifer appeared behind him.
"I thought my 'no' was loud enough," he said, turning to the dark walnut wood shelf lined with neatly arranged shirts, scanning them under the soft white light.
He paused as her hands slid up his chest, inhaling slowly as if steadying himself.
A part of him had thought—maybe if another woman touched him, it would be enough.
Enough to pull Maria from his mind.
"I missed you," Jennifer murmured, her breath warm against his back as her fingers grazed his nipples.
Maria's hands flashed through his mind—her fingers curling around his shoulders.
He caught Jennifer's wrists, dropping them before turning to face her exaggerated look of disappointment.
"Give it a rest, Jennifer," he said flatly.
She folded her arms, scoffing. "I don't know how else you want me to apologize. We're supposed to fix this. And in case you forgot—he forced himself on me."
Miles began to wish he had ignored the doorbell.
He turned back to his wardrobe, scrolling through.
"Yeah," he said dryly. "I remember he also forced you to visit his apartment more than once. Poor you."
"Well…" she hesitated, scrambling, "You were working. I was emotionally vulnerable."
Miles pulled out two shirts—a dark grey one with Jellas Nights stamped in red, and a black textured piece—and placed them on the rack before the mirror.
He then turned to the right side of the shelf holding trousers and began scanning through them.
"I'm not having this conversation anymore," he said calmly.
"I genuinely hope it's just work with Maria," Jennifer said.
He ignored her, searching for a comfortable pair of jeans.
"First it was that over-diligent secretary," she continued. "Now it's Maria. We're supposed to be fixing things—now that we're both in Mapla."
Her talking was going to give him a headache.
"There is no 'we'," he said. "And I suggest you take your disappointment to whoever's been feeding you delusions."
She stamped her foot, furious.
"Then you blame me for cheating," she snapped before storming out.
The door shut behind her.
Good riddance.
Miles exhaled, his thoughts drifting immediately to his phone.
He should start making arrangements for Maria tomorrow.
His mind pulled him back to the consequences. The risk. The damage it would cause…mostly to her.
He paused.
Then moved anyway.
As if his mind had already decided for him, he stepped into the living room, picked up his phone
—
and booked a private boat date on his yacht.