I was halfway to the elevator when I heard the voice behind me.
"Whitley."
I turned. Niko was standing in the hallway, hands in his pockets. The rest of the meeting attendees had dispersed. It was just us and the hum of the air conditioning.
"That was quite a performance in there," I said.
He tilted his head slightly. "It wasn't a performance. Scott's numbers were wrong."
"You could have told him privately."
"I could have." He didn't elaborate.
I shifted my bag on my shoulder. "Was there something you needed?"
"No." He looked at me for a moment longer than necessary. "I wanted to make sure you're all right."
"I'm fine."
"You left your wine untouched at the bar the other night. You don't look fine."
I opened my mouth to respond when movement in the lobby below caught my eye. Through the glass wall overlooking the atrium, I saw him.
Jaden.
He was holding a bouquet so large it looked like he'd bought out an entire florist. White roses. My supposed favorite. I'd told him once, years ago, that I liked the simple ones at the farmer's market. He'd never listened.
He spotted me through the glass. His face lit up.
I looked away.
"Friend of yours?" Niko's voice was flat.
I didn't answer.
Jaden was already heading for the elevator. I could see the determination in his stride. The elevator dinged. The doors opened.
He stepped out, flowers first. "Whit! I was hoping I'd catch you."
He stopped when he saw Niko.
For a second, no one spoke.
Jaden recovered first. He shifted the bouquet to one arm and extended his hand. "Jaden Spencer."
Niko looked at the hand. Then he shook it. Once. "Niko Gray."
"Gray Capital," Jaden said, recognition dawning. "I've heard of you. You just came out of that meeting, right? With Scott's team?"
"I did."
Jaden smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "Small world. I'm Whitley's—" He paused. Glanced at me. "We're working things out."
"Are you." It wasn't a question.
I felt the air tighten.
Jaden turned to me, holding out the flowers. "I wanted to surprise you. I know you've been stressed. I thought these might help."
I didn't take them.
Niko's gaze moved from Jaden to me. His expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes said everything. He knew exactly what this was. He knew exactly what Jaden was.
And he was waiting to see what I would do.
"I'm working," I said quietly.
Jaden's smile faltered. "I can wait. We can grab lunch. Or just coffee. Five minutes."
"No."
He blinked. "Whit—"
"I said no."
The silence stretched. Jaden looked at Niko. Then back at me. "You know what? Fine. I'll leave these at the front desk. You can pick them up when you're ready."
He turned and walked back toward the elevator, the bouquet still in his arms.
Niko watched him go. Then he looked at me.
"Working things out," he repeated softly.
"We're not."
He nodded once. "Good."
He turned and walked toward the stairs. He didn't say goodbye.
I stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty hallway.
Then I went back to my desk.
The flowers arrived at my apartment that evening. The building manager called to say a delivery was waiting in the lobby. I went down and found not just the bouquet, but three additional boxes.
I opened the smallest one first.
A handbag. Structured leather. Cream-colored. Probably four thousand dollars.
There was a card tucked inside, handwritten in Jaden's slanted script: *I just want to make things right. Let me try. Please.*
I stared at it.
Then I took out my phone. I photographed the bag, still in its box. I wrote a single line on a Post-it note from my purse: *I don't accept invoices.*
I stuck it to the box, resealed everything, and called a courier service. "I need these returned to sender. Tonight."
The dispatcher took the address. "All four boxes?"
"All four."
I went back upstairs and poured myself a glass of water. I didn't drink it. I just stood at the window and looked out at the city lights.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Jaden: *Did you get the flowers?*
I deleted it.
Another buzz: *And the bag? I saw you looking at it last month.*
I blocked the number.
I sat down at my kitchen table and opened my laptop. I had work to finish. Account transfers to review. Reconciliations to close.
I pulled up the first file.
That's when I saw it.
A name in the liaison column. External accounts. Private banking services.
*Lola Franklin.*
I stopped.
I scrolled down. The name appeared again. And again. Across multiple entries. All tied to one client.
Scott Aguilar.
I sat back.
My chest felt tight.
I pulled up the metadata. The account had been active for over a year. The transaction patterns were consistent. Regular. Personal.
I opened a new tab and searched the firm directory. Lola Franklin. Banking liaison. External relations.
I stared at the screen.
Then I opened my messages and texted Marcus: *You around?*
He replied immediately: *Yeah. What's up?*
*Can I ask you something off the record?*
*Always.*
I hesitated. Then I typed: *Lola Franklin. She works with Scott's private accounts, right?*
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
*Yeah. Why?*
*How private?*
A long pause.
Then: *Private enough that his wife doesn't know about them.*
I closed my eyes.
*You okay?* Marcus texted.
I didn't answer.
I set my phone down and stared at the name on the screen.
Lola Franklin.
The woman in my bed.
The woman in Scott's accounts.
I felt sick.
I closed the laptop and stood up. I walked to the window. I pressed my forehead against the glass.
The city looked exactly the same as it had five minutes ago.
But everything else had shifted.
