Malayah Smith approached the imposing facade of the Grand Alpine Resort with a confident stride, despite the ill-fitting black suit and oversized sunglasses that seemed to swallow her petite frame. She laughed inwardly at the absurdity of her situation, hoping the grandeur of the place would overshadow her anonymity. This was just another assignment, after all—one where blending in was key.
As soon as she set foot in the lobby, two brawny security guards intercepted her path.
The guards were towering figures, each nearly 6 feet tall, and Malayah had to crane her neck to meet their gaze, causing her sunglasses to wobble precariously on her nose. She felt a fleeting stab of embarrassment at her diminutive height—a rare sensation for her.
“Good afternoon, miss. May I ask who you're here to see?” one of the guards inquired, giving her a once-over.
Malayah attempted to square her shoulders, trying to offset the height difference with sheer attitude. “I'm here for Ricardo Patterson,” she declared with authority, using the CEO's first name to assert some semblance of control.
The guards exchanged a skeptical glance. One extended his hand, saying, “Miss, do you have an appointment with Mr. Patterson? We’ll need to see your appointment card.”
Malayah was momentarily stumped. Why would she need an appointment card? It wasn't like she was booking a dentist appointment. Cursing silently at her mentor’s oversight in not preparing her for this step, she hesitated. “I... don't have an appointment card.”
“I’m sorry, miss,” the guard replied. “Please register at the security desk first, then you can arrange an appointment at the front desk.”
The suggestion filled Malayah with dread. Registering could expose her identity as a woman—a risk she could not take. But without following protocol, she'd never meet Ricardo Patterson. Even if she could arrange an appointment, she’d be waiting for days, even weeks. The idea of retreating briefly crossed her mind.
Then inspiration struck. From her pocket, she retrieved a counterfeit check for a million dollars. “I don’t have an appointment card, but perhaps this can serve my purpose.” She presented the replica check to the guards.
The guards froze at the sight of the check, their demeanor shifting from dismissive to deferential, recognizing it as something that only the legendary bodyguard, Adan Bradley, could produce.
“Forgive us, miss. Let's escort you to Mr. Patterson immediately,” the guard said, his tone now respectful.
The significance of the check was beyond Malayah, but the change in attitude was a relief, a welcome departure from the guards' initial skepticism.
Inside the CEO's office at Grand Alpine Resort, Ricardo Patterson was deep in thought, concentrating on a document in front of him. Across the desk, Parker Franklin sat casually, absorbed in sketching something with a pen.
The repetitive scratching of Parker's pen prompted Ricardo to glance up, exasperated. “Parker, why are you in here instead of working? What's that you’re drawing?”
Parker ignored Ricardo’s irritation and snickered, “Finished!”
“What’s done?” Ricardo asked, curious.
“Your top-notch bodyguard,” Parker exclaimed, brandishing his sketch.
Ricardo looked at the drawing, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Parker, are you sure that’s a bodyguard and not a cartoon character?”
“A cartoon character? Take another look, it’s clearly human!” Parker defended.
Their friendly banter was cut short as Ricardo’s desk phone rang. He answered swiftly.
“Mr. Patterson, Mr. Adan Bradley has arrived. He’s outside your office now,” the secretary announced crisply.
The news made Parker jump, rushing to open the office door. “I don’t see anyone, Ricardo. Your secretary’s pulling a fast one,” Parker laughed, peering out.
Then, a voice both smooth and resolute sounded nearby, “I’m Adan Bradley.”
Parker recoiled in surprise, his eyes falling on Malayah—barely visible as she stood there, half-concealed by the door.
