AVA SINCLAIR.

The pool water sparkled under the Los Angeles sun, catching the light in a way that made my skin glow radiantly. I arched my back, letting my dark auburn hair spurt in wet, glossy waves down my shoulders and sharp cheekbones. I pouted my full lips, so my blue eyes were half-lidded as I gave the camera my best smoldering stare. The music video director shouted something about angles, but I barely heard him over the pulse of the soft hum vibrating through the air. Every stroke I made through the water was deliberate was a performance not just for the lens but for Damian Pierce, knowing he was watching despite dismissing me like I was nothing more than a spoiled debutante playing at being a star. My slender body sliced through the pool with a confidence that masked the fire raging in my chest, a fire that whispered I would make him see me, really see me, no matter what it took.

I kicked off the pool's edge, gliding beneath the surface, the world muffled and serene for a fleeting moment. My thoughts flowed as fiercely as the surrounding water. Damian had always been there, lurking in my life like a shadow I couldn't shake. He was Zane's best friend, older by a decade, with an infuriating charm that made my knees weak and my temper flare.

I remember the summer I turned eighteen, the way his dark eyes had lingered on me for so long at Zane's beach house, his lips curling into a half-smile that promised things we would never dare to voice. We had stood too close on the balcony, the ocean breeze tangling my hair, as I felt his breath warm against my cheek when he had leaned in, only to pull back, muttering something about his loyalty to my brother. Loyalty. As if I were a child who couldn't handle her own heart. I broke the surface, gasping softly, water streaming down my face as I tilted my head for the camera.

The photographer clicked furiously, shouting, "That's it, Ava! That look is fierce and untouchable!"

I wasn't untouchable, though. Not when it came to Damian. Every dismissive glance he had thrown my way since I returned to Los Angeles and every time he called me "kid" or brushed off my attempts to talk, it cut deeper than I would admit. I wasn't the naive girl he seemed to think I was. I have walked runways in Paris, sipped champagne with royalty in Dubai, danced under the stars in Santorini. I had lived a life most could only dream of, yet here I was, still chasing the approval of a man who saw me as Zane's little sister and nothing more.

The video shoot wrapped with the director clapping like we had just filmed the next blockbuster. I climbed out of the pool, wrapping a silk robe around my bikini-clad body, the fabric clinging to my damp skin. The crew bustled around, packing up equipment, but my focus was elsewhere. Damian.

He had been at the shoot earlier, lounging by the bar with that effortless swag, his tailored suit hugging his broad shoulders. He hadn't stayed long at the location but just long enough to watch me dive into the pool and then leave without a word. The memory of his indifference to me burned. I would show him I was his equal, not some flighty heiress. I would make him want me.

While the crew cleaned up the location, I found myself lingering with my manager, Andrea. She was a petite woman with a pixie cut and a laugh that could light up a room. We had walked through the chaos of the day, and now we sat at a corner table, sipping martinis.

"You were a vision out there today," Andrea said, her eyes sparkling. "I mean, damn, Ava. You made that pool look like it was made for you."

I laughed, swirling my drink. "Thanks, Andrea. You made me look like a goddess. That smokey eye? Lethal."

She grinned, leaning closer. "So, spill. What's with you and Mr. Tall, dark, and brooding in the shadows? I saw the way you two were looking at each other."

I blushed, glancing down at my glass. "It's... complicated. He's my brother's friend. I've known him forever."

"Uh-huh," she said, raising an eyebrow. "And I've known my cat forever, but I don't look at her like I want to climb her like a tree."

I burst out laughing, "Okay, maybe I like him. A little. But he's... difficult. And there's stuff with my brother I can't ignore."

Lila reached across the table, squeezing my hand. "Hey, you're Ava freaking Sinclair. You've walked runways and have caused a few international incidents with that smile. Whatever's going on, you've got this. And if that guy can't see how incredible you are, he's an idiot."

Her words warmed me. "Thanks, Kayla," I said softly. "I needed that."

"Anytime," she said, clinking her glass against mine. "Now, let's order another round and plot how you're gonna make that man beg for mercy." I grinned, letting her words reignite the fire in my chest for Damian.

I took the elevator back to my suite at the Château Marmont. I kicked off my heels and let the robe fall to the floor, the cool air kissing my skin. The room was a study in opulence, a gold-accented chandelier full of crystals that sat over my palatial-sized bed. I grew up in places like that, raised by my maternal grandparents after Mom died. Their wealth had shaped me into the sleek, confident woman I had become. I had decided to be a Sinclair, not Calloway, a deliberate shield against the shadows of my half-brother's world.

My half-brother, Zane Calloway, who is the billionaire genius behind Atlas Group, was a man everyone in LA revered. But I had heard the dark whispers of how folks had vanished after crossing him. When our father died five years ago, I saw a shift in Zane, the way his eyes suddenly became hardened and his smiles grew rare. Yet I had pretended not to notice, focusing on my modeling career.

I padded across the plush carpet to the dressing table, my reflection staring back at me. I was reaching for my phone when my eyes caught a folded piece of paper on the floor, half-tucked under the bathroom door. My pulse quickened as I bent to pick it up, the edges crisp and heavy, like it carried weight beyond its size. I unfolded it, and the words made my breath pause.

"Stay out of my business, or you will regret it."

That was it; there was no signature or hint of who had left it, but I knew who sent the threat note: Kamar. His threat hung in the air, choking me until I sank onto the edge of the bed, still holding the note with trembling hands. Zane had always kept me at arm's length from his company, insisting it was for my safety. I had played along, jet-setting across the globe, modeling, living the life of a carefree heiress. But I wasn't stupid. I had overheard enough late-night calls, seen enough guarded looks between Zane and his men, to know Atlas Group wasn't just a tech empire. Our father's death had changed Zane. He had stepped into a role I didn't fully understand, and now this note confirmed what I had feared: His world was darker than I had let myself believe.

My mind raced, piecing together fragments of the past. The way Zane's jaw tightened whenever I asked about Atlas. Damian and his other friends, too. The thought of him sent a jolt of longing through me. He was Zane's right-hand man, always at his side, always in on the secrets. If anyone knew what this note meant, it was him. And if I played this right, I could use it to pull him closer, to force him to see me as more than Zane's sister.

I grabbed my phone, letting my fingers fly over the screen as I typed a message to Damian.

"Meet me at the rooftop bar... 9 PM. We need to talk." I hit send before I could second-guess myself. This note was about proving I could handle whatever Zane was hiding and showing Damian I wasn't the spoiled girl he thought I was. I had spent years chasing my freedom, but now I was chasing something else: truth, and just maybe, Damian.

֍

At 8 pm, I showered, letting the hot water wash away the day's tension, but it couldn't rinse away the unease curling in my gut. I walked to my closet to choose my clothes for the night. And after several selections, I decided to wear black leather pants that hugged my long legs, a silk blouse with a neckline dipped low enough to catch his attention, and a matching heel that made my six-foot frame tower. I styled my hair in loose waves before I swiped the hot-red lipstick across my lips, giving my poise the slash of defiance. If I was walking into danger, I would do it looking like a queen.

I made it to the rooftop bar at exactly 9 pm. I spotted Damian immediately, leaning against the bar, holding a whiskey glass in his hand. His dark hair was tousled, his suit jacket unbuttoned, revealing a crisp white shirt.

I strode toward him, ignoring the heads that turned my way. "Damian," I said.

He turned, his eyes raking over me. First, it lingered on the lipstick, the heels, and back to the fire in my expression. "Ava," he drawled, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips. "You look ravishing, as always. What's this about?"

I slid onto the stool beside him, crossing my legs, letting the movement draw his gaze. "Don't play dumb," I said, keeping my tone light. "You saw me at the shot today. You left without a word. And now I get this." I pulled the note from my clutch, sliding it across the bar.

His smirk faded as he unfolded it, his jaw tightening as he read. "Where did you get this?" His voice was low yet dangerous, and it made me flinch.

"Under my door," I said, meeting his gaze. "Someone's watching me, Damian. And I'm betting you know who and why."

He folded the note, slipping it into his pocket, his expression unreadable. "You need to stay out of this, Ava. Whatever you're thinking, you're wrong."

"Am I?" I leaned closer. "I know Zane's not just running a tech company. And I know you're in on it. Don't lie to me."

His eyes darkened. "You're playing a dangerous game, kid."

"Don't call me that," I snapped, my temper flaring. "I'm not a child, Damian. I'm not blind, either. If Zane's in trouble, I deserve to know. And if you don't tell me, I'll find out myself."

He laughed, "You think you can handle it? You've spent your life posing for cameras, Ava. This isn't a runway."

His words hurt my feelings, but I refused to let him see them. "Maybe that's not so far from the truth," I said. "But I'm not as fragile as you think. And I'm not letting this go. So here's the deal; You help me figure out who sent that note, or I will go digging. And trust me, I know how to make noise."

For a moment, he just stared at me, his eyes searching for mine like he was seeing me for the first time. Then he leaned in, so close I could smell the whiskey on his breath, the faint cedar of his cologne. "You're trouble, Ava Sinclair," he murmured. "Always have been."

My heart raced, but I didn't back down. "Good," I said, curving my lips into a smile. "Then you'll help me."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and I knew I had him. "Fine," he said. "But you do exactly what I say. No questioning."

"Deal," I said, my pulse singing with victory.

As he signaled the bartender for another drink, I basked in my feelings. Though I was stepping into a world I didn't fully understand, I wasn't alone.

NOAH.

I woke to a crazy ass pounding in my head. The force of it felt like someone had resorted to cracking my skull open with a sledgehammer while I slept. Rolling on my side, the room was dimly lit since the heavy curtains were hellbent on choking out most of the morning light. That was my luck, because the migraine I felt in my head got worse with even the faint glow seeping through and made me wince in intense pain. My mouth tasted awfully dry, and every bone in my body ached like I had been in a fight all night. Except I was in a sexual tango? The sheets on my side of the bed were tangled around my legs, and when I sniffed the air, I noted it carried a faint trace of jasmine. Then I recalled her name. Lila. It hit me like a stray bullet sharply to the guts.

I sat up to scan the room. It was empty. No trace of her. The space beside me was cold, and barely dented, just like it hadn't been sleeping all night. I pressed my hand towards the mattress, half-expecting it to hold some lingering warmth and proof she had been real and my night wasn't a dream. Nothing. Just the faint hum of the air conditioner. My gut twisted with emptiness. She was gone.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed. The room wasn't mine, but hers, or so she said while we chatted at Club Eden's. I wiped my forehead like it could magically remind me of what had happened between then and that moment, but all I got was a haze flickering in my memory of her silhouette as she moved through the crowd with all her curves and confidence. Lila.

"Fuck!" I yelled, sinking my fist into the mattress. I had been so drunk that I had broken my own damn rule...no one-night stands...and now here I was, alone in a stranger's hotel room with a foggy recollection of her lips, her moans, and the way her nails had dug into my back.

I stumbled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. The mirror showed me my bloodshot eyes, stubble creeping across my jaw, and a hickey blooming on my collarbone.

"Hickey?" I leaned closer, staring at the mark. The mark irked me, but then it meant she wasn't made-up. Lila was Real. She was real. But where in the fucking hell was she?

I went back to check the room again, desperate for something she had left behind. No purse, no clothes, no phone. Not even a damn hairpin. I tore through the drawers, the closet, even the trash can. Nothing. My pulse kicked up in frustration and deep curiosity. To a hacker like me, Lila was a puzzle, and I had always been great at solving those puzzles.

Knowing there was nothing left in the room, I grabbed my stuff and walked out. Down at the front desk, the receptionist's bored expression lit up the second she recognized me. She was a young woman with a tight bun, "Mr Bennet? Is that really you?" She said in a singsong voice, breaking into a charming smile.

"Hey, I need you to look up Lila in the Pineapple suit for me." I said, dismissing her awe-stricken vibe. The last thing I needed was being seen out there by some happy-go-lucky paparazzi crew.

The lady's expression dropped as she hastily turned her attention to the laptop before her. In five seconds, her eyes were glaring back at me. "We have no record of a Lila staying here," she said, her voice flat as she tapped at the keyboard. "Are you sure about the name, Mr Bennett?"

"I'm sure," I snapped, my patience fraying. "She booked this room. I was with her last night."

The woman's eyes flicked to me, then back to her screen. "No Lila. No reservation under that name. You want me to check again?"

I clenched my jaw, nodding. She typed, sighed, and shook her head. "Nothing. Maybe she used a different name?"

"Never mind. Thanks" I said as I walked away before I said something I would regret. A different name. Of course. Why hadn't I thought of that? Because I'd been too busy drowning in whiskey and her scent to ask questions. My hands balled into fists as I pushed through the hotel's glass doors and into the blinding morning sun. My car was parked in the lot, a sleek black Audi that felt like the only thing grounding me right now. I slid behind the wheel, the leather creaking under my weight, and gripped the steering wheel so hard.

As I drove back to my place, my mind wasn't on the road, though. It was on her. Lila. She had high cheekbones, full lips, and eyes that seemed to see right through you. And that body... Christ, I could still feel the way her hips had pressed against mine, the way her breath had hitched when I had kissed her neck. But it wasn't just lust clawing at me. There was something about the way she'd moved, like she was playing a game.

I turned onto the highway, the hum of the engine steadying my thoughts. The Atlas Cartel mess was waiting for me back home, and I couldn't afford to be distracted. The loss of the previous day's shipment still hung in the air. It was worth a fortune in product, and somewhere between the pickup and delivery location, it was gone, probably lost to a raid or a double-cross; we didn't know yet. As COO, I had taken the heat, and Zane hadn't held back. I could still hear his words echoing in my head. "Five years without a hitch, Noah, and you let this happen?" The rebuke had cut deeper than it should've, mostly because of Sienna.

Sienna. His fiancée. Co-leader of the cartel alongside Zane. I didn't begrudge her the position because she'd earned it, clawing her way up through sheer grit and sharper instincts than most of us combined. But Zane's favoritism of her was starting to grate. He had always had a soft spot for her, even before they'd fallen in love, and now it felt like she could do no wrong while the rest of us, me, Damian, Liam, and Ethan, were held to a different standard.

I had tried talking to Damian about it, but he'd just shrugged, too obsessed with turning Club Eden into the next big thing to care about cartel politics. Liam and Ethan were off in Europe, handling operations in London and Berlin, leaving me to stew in my own frustration. Now that frustrated move, I made about drinking that pushed me to meet Lila was starting to seem like I had made an even bigger mess of things.

I pulled into my driveway, the sleek architectural design of my house coming into view. It was too big for one person, all glass, but it was home. I killed the engine and sat there for a moment, staring at the dashboard. Lila's face flashed in my mind again. Who was she? Why had she vanished? And why did I care so damn much?

Inside, I tossed my keys on the counter and headed for the shower. The hot water didn't wash away the questions, though. If anything, it sharpened them. I leaned my forehead against the tile, letting the steam envelop me. My memory of last night was a patchwork of flashes of her laugh, her fingers trailing down my chest, the way she had whispered her moans. But there were gaps, too, moments lost to the haze of whiskey and lust. Had she said anything about herself? A last name? A job? The reason she was at Club Eden, of all places?

I dried off and threw on a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, my mind still churning. The cartel's problems could wait a few hours because I needed answers about Lila. I grabbed my laptop and sank onto the couch, pulling up every database I had access to. Being COO of a cartel came with perks, including connections to less-than-legal systems for tracking people. I typed in "Lila," knowing it was a long shot. No last name, no address, just a first name and a face I couldn't shake. The search came up empty, as expected.

I leaned back, running a hand through my damp hair. My phone buzzed on the coffee table, and I glanced at the screen. Audrey, the PR lead for Atlas. My stomach tightened. I hadn't told her about my no-show for the conference scheduled for that morning and hadn't even thought about how to explain it. I let the call go to voicemail, guilt prickling at the edges of my thoughts.

I grabbed my jacket and headed back out, driving to Club Eden. If Lila had been there, someone had to have seen her. The club was quiet in the daylight, its neon signs dark, the parking lot nearly empty. I pushed through the front door, the faint smell of stale liquor and perfume hitting me like a memory. The bartender, Marco, whom I'd known for years, was wiping down the counter.

"Noah," he said, nodding. "Didn't expect to see you back so soon."

I slid onto a stool, keeping my tone casual. "Looking for someone. A woman I met here last night. Lila. You know her?"

Marco's hands paused on the rag, his brow furrowing. "Lila? I don't know any regulars by that name. Describe her."

I did everything I could remember. The curve of her jaw, the way her blonde hair fell in waves over her shoulders, the green flecks in her blue eyes. Marco listened, then shook his head. "Sounds like a dream, man, but I didn't see anyone like that. You sure she was here?"

"I'm sure," I said.

He shrugged. "Check with Damian. He's got eyes everywhere."

I found Damian in his office, surrounded by paperwork and a half-empty bottle of bourbon. He looked up, his usual smirk in place. "Rough night, brother?"

"Something like that," I said, leaning against the doorframe. "You clearly saw me with that woman named Lila last night, blonde hair, killer smile."

Damian's smirk faded slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Lila, huh? Doesn't ring a bell. Why?"

"Just need to find her," I said, keeping it vague. Damian didn't push, but I could tell he was curious. He had always been good at reading people, especially me.

"I'll ask around," he said finally. "But Noah, are you sure she's worth the trouble? Sex that good?"

I didn't answer. I wasn't sure of anything anymore.

By the time I got back home, the sun was starting to come out. I poured myself a drink, the whiskey burning my throat as I stood on my balcony, staring out at the city.

My phone buzzed again. Audrey. This time, I answered.

"Noah," she said. "Where have you been? I've been calling all day. You missed the conference, not a great look for the company".

I closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I know. I'm sorry. It's been... a morning."

"Are you okay?" she asked, and I could hear the concern in her voice, the kind that made my chest ache because I didn't deserve it.

"Yeah," I lied. "Just dealing with some stuff."

There was a pause, then her voice softened further. "Come over. Please. We really need you to show up. I have talked with the producer to move things back a bit. We have to do this."

I hesitated, the weight of the previous night pressing down on me. But I couldn't say no to her, not when she sounded like that. "I'll be there in twenty."

"Great. Thank you, Noah."

In thirty minutes, I was at her office, which was filled with the fragrance of vanilla candles and the faint hum of jazz from her speakers. Audrey was curled up on the seat, her dark hair loose, her blue eyes searching for mine as I walked in. She stood, crossing the room to wrap her arms around me. I hugged her back, breathing her in, trying to anchor myself. She was our bridge between the truth about our operations and the world, and she took the role to heart. Audrey made sure we were spotlessly clean before the world and ensured she gave us each a prep before putting us in front of the camera. She was our media big sister in the empire.

"You look like hell," she said, pulling back to study my face. Her fingers brushed my jaw, and I fought the urge to flinch, remembering Lila's touch in that same spot.

"Feel like it too," I admitted, sinking onto the couch beside her.

She sat close, her knee almost brushing mine. "Talk to me, Noah. What's going on?"

I wanted to tell her everything about Lila, but that would mean telling Zane and the rest of the cartel we were in trouble. Instead, I took her hand, lacing my fingers through hers. "I'm just... off. The shipment, Zane, all of it. I don't know."

Her thumb traced circles in my palm, her touch grounding me. "Zane's hard on everyone, you know that. But he trusts you. We all do."

I looked at her, really looked at her, " We don't deserve you," I said quietly.

She smiled, soft and warm. "Yes, you do. And I'm not going anywhere, no firm is going to pay half as much as Atlas does anyway."

"Thank you," I said later, letting my head rest on the couch.

"No, thank you for showing up. If you excuse me, I have to inform the crew you are ready to start," she said.

"Do that. See you out there,"

"Make us proud," Audrey said, strolling out of the office. My eyes drifted to the window, to the city beyond, where Lila was out there somewhere, waiting to be found. And I knew, deep down, I wouldn't stop until I uncovered the truth about her, wherever and whomever she was.

HARPER.

The luxury-decorated hall was filled with the kind of energy that makes one feel a sense of belonging. Crystal chandeliers threw bright light across the room, adding a touch of sparkle to the sequined gowns and tuxes that everyone in the room wore. The air smelled of expensive perfume oozing with ambition. Who would blame them? After all, it was what brought me there, too. Becoming Lila was phase one of my strategy and it had been a good touch. With my bug on Noah's Calendar, I was closer to Atlas's than ever. The next phase of my plan was why I was at the banquet hall that evening.

I stood near the entrance, clasping a glass of untouched champagne in my hand as I scanned the crowd at the Los Angeles annual Tech gala, with my press badge hanging around my neck, granting me access but marking me as an outsider. I didn't mind. Outsiders saw everything others missed.

Since the guests were still arriving, the action was outside on the red carpet, and I walked out of the hall to participate in the ongoing circus. The flashing cameras, shouted questions, and the low hum of anticipation that always preceded the arrival of a big shot all made me soak the air with nostalgia. I had been there with a notebook tucked into my clutch, while my ears pricked for any lead gist worth chasing. They had been my humble beginning, and perhaps they will usher me into a better future that day.

Most of the arrivals were tech moguls and local celebrities, all showing off the usual parade of wealth and influence and none caught my attention as I took a sip of my champagne watching the media buzz. But then a sleek white Bentley rolled up, and the crowd's energy shifted, and soft murmurs rippled through the reporters, tightening their focus at once. Every camera lens was redirected to capture the car angles, and I leaned forward, squinting against the glare of spotlights, waiting to see who could command that kind of buzz.

The car flung open, and Audrey Movitch stepped out, and my breath caught. I could hear the hush fall on everyone on the red carpet. Audrey was the PR handler for the Atlas Group. Of course. Her presence explained the sudden charge in the air. She moved with the grace of someone who had mastered the art of being watched, her tailored navy dress hugging her frame, her auburn hair swept into an elegant chignon. But it wasn't her poise or her designer heels that held my attention. It was the way her smile never quite reached her eyes as she turned to field questions from the press line. While they hauled lots of questions about Atlas operations, she answered each of them with a polished deflection, showing her masterclass in saying nothing while sounding like she was spilling everything. I knew that trick. I have seen it in politicians, CEOs, and liars. My pulse quickened. Audrey Movitch was in on the other dark deals Atlas is involved in aside from the tech business; she was clearly hiding something, and I was going to find out what. Just like the four brothers, Audrey was loyal to the group. She had been working with Atlas for over six years. Investment banking didn't breed that kind of loyalty and secrecy. I'd thought she was in the clear and merely doing her job as a PR specialist until that moment. Bingo Audrey!

I watched her work the red carpet, her responses smooth as glass. "The Atlas Group is thrilled to support innovation in sustainable tech investment," she said to one reporter. "Our focus is on empowering the future, not dwelling on the past." The reporter nodded, scribbling furiously, but I caught the slight tightening of her jaw when someone asked about the brothers' private ventures. She laughed it off, a tinkling sound that didn't match the flicker of unease in her eyes. My fingers twitched around my glass. I was trained to spot the cracks in a facade, and Audrey's was starting to show. The gala's host called for everyone to move inside, and I trailed the crowd, keeping my eyes on Audrey. She glided toward the main hall, her posture impeccable with a fixed smile.

I needed to get close to her, too, not just for a soundbite like the other reporters, but for something real. My charming vibe was going to come in handy, knowing that years of working in rooms like this had taught me how to make people trust me and forget I was a journalist until it was too late. After the press had eased off on her trail, I decided it was time for me to warm up my way to the PR lady. I adjusted my dress, a deep emerald number that hugged my curves without screaming for attention, and made my move.

"Audrey Movitch?" I said, falling into step beside her as we entered the hall. My voice was light with the kind of tone that invited confidence. "You handled that press line like a pro. I'm Harper Kane, by the way."

She turned, her eyes assessing me in a heartbeat. Up close, she was even more striking. She had sharp cheekbones, a smattering of freckles across her nose, and eyes that seemed to see right through me. But her smile was practiced. "Thank you, Harper. It's just part of the job. You're with...?"

"Freelance, mostly," I said, keeping it vague. "I cover the tech beat for a few outlets. You know, chasing the next big thing." I flashed a grin, letting a hint of mischief creep into it. "Though I have to say, Atlas always seems to be the story everyone wants but no one can quite get."

Her laugh was soft, but I caught the edge in it. "We're just a boring investment firm, I'm afraid. Not much of a story there."

I tilted my head, letting my expression say I didn't buy it without being rude. "Oh, I don't know. Five brothers running a billion-dollar empire? That's the kind of thing that sells papers."

She didn't miss a beat. "They're brilliant men with a vision. I'm lucky to work with them." Her tone was perfect, but her fingers tightened slightly around her clutch. Gotcha Audrey.

We reached the seating area and I glanced at the place cards, my heart doing a little leap of its own when I saw my name next to hers. Luck or fate, I didn't care. I was exactly where I needed to be.

"Looks like we're tablemates," I said, pulling out her chair before she could. A small gesture, but it set the tone for charm since I was here to make her comfortable and definitely like me.

She slid into her seat in fluid movements, and I took the chair beside her. The room buzzed with conversation mixed with the clink of glasses and cutlery. Onstage, a tech influencer was droning about the Fintech future, but I barely listened. My focus was on Audrey, how her gaze flicked to the stage but never settled. She was on guard, and I needed to change that.

"So," I said, leaning in just enough to make it feel intimate without crowding her, "how do you do it? Managing the PR for a juggernaut like Atlas. I bet you've got stories that'd make my hair curl."

She smiled, and this time it felt a little more genuine. "It's a lot of coffee and a good pair of heels," she said, crossing her legs. "But honestly, it's about knowing the mission. The brothers are intense, but they're focused. They want to change the world, and I help them tell that story."

I nodded, filing away the word "intense." It wasn't much, but it was a start. "Must be exhausting, though. Keeping all those plates spinning. I mean, the brothers, Zane, Ethan, Noah, Damian and Liam. They're practically perfect. No one ever sees them slip up. That's got to be your doing."

Her eyes flickered, just for a moment, and I knew I had hit a nerve. "They're disciplined," she said, her voice steady but her fingers brushing the stem of her glass a little too quickly. "They know what's at stake."

I wanted to push, to ask what exactly was at stake, but I held back. Pushing too soon, and she'd clam up. Instead, I pivoted. "I get it. I've covered enough CEOs to know the ones who shine do it because they've got someone like you in their corner. You're like the magic behind the curtain."

That got a real laugh out of her, a low, throaty sound filled me with warmth. "Wizard, huh? I'll take it. But I'm no Oz. Just a girl from Chicago who's good at her job."

"Chicago?" I latched onto it, sensing an opening. "No way, I spent a summer there interning at the Tribune. Best deep-dish pizza I've ever had. You a Lou Malnati's fan or what?"

Her face lit up, and for the first time, I saw her relax. "Lou's is solid, but I'm a Pequod's girl. Caramelized crust, extra sausage. You don't mess with perfection."

I grinned, leaning back in my chair. "Pequod's? Okay, I respect it. We used to argue about pizza rankings in the newsroom like it was a blood sport. What else do you miss about Chicago?"

We slipped into easy banter, trading stories about dive bars and lakefront summers. I kept my questions in a friendly light, letting her lead, but I was always watching, always listening. The way her shoulders loosened when she talked about her old neighborhood, the way her eyes darted to her phone when a notification pinged. She was good, but she wasn't perfect. There was something behind her polish, she had something she was guarding. I just needed time to find it.

The talk show portion of the evening dragged on, some panel about blockchain that had half the room checking their watches. I used the lull to keep Audrey talking, steering the conversation to safer ground on movies, travel, the chaos of PR life. I mirrored her energy, laughing at her jokes, nodding at the right moments. By the time the panel wrapped, we were chatting like old friends, and when she pulled out her business card, I knew I'd played it right.

"Here," she said, handing it to me with a smile. "In case you ever want to talk about pizza or PR disasters."

I took it, my fingers brushing hers, and slipped my own card into her hand. "Oh, I'll be calling. You're too interesting to let slip away."

Her smile faltered for a split second, and I wondered if she'd caught the double meaning. But she recovered fast, tucking my card into her clutch. "Looking forward to it, Harper."

The gala was winding down already with guests drifting toward the exits, but I wasn't ready to let her go. I needed more than a card. I needed her trust. "Hey," I said, standing as she did, "you want to grab a drink? Somewhere less... chandelier-y? I know a great spot a few blocks from here. No press, no pressure."

She hesitated, and I held my breath, knowing this was the make-or-break moment. My mind raced, wondering if I had pushed too hard? Was she seeing through me? But then she nodded, her smile softening. "Sure. I could use a drink."

We slipped out a side door, avoiding the lingering photographers, and stepped into the cool night air. The city hummed around us, neon lights reflecting off wet pavement. I led her to a quiet bar I'd scouted earlier, a place with dim lighting and booths that promised privacy. We settled in, ordering some cocktails, and I let the conversation flow naturally, steering it away from Atlas for now. I needed her to feel safe, to see me as a friend, not a threat.

"So," I said, stirring my drink, "you ever get tired of the PR game? All the spinning, the secrets?"

She took a sip, her eyes meeting mine over the rim of her glass. "Sometimes. But it's what I'm good at. And it's not all secrets. Some stories are worth telling."

"I bet you've got some good ones. The kind that don't make it to the press releases."

She laughed, but there was a guarded edge to it. "Maybe. But you know how it is, some things are better left off the record."

"For now," I said, flashing a playful grin. "But I'm patient. And I'm a great listener."

She studied me, and for a moment, I thought she might shut down. But then she leaned back, her posture easing. "You're trouble, Harper Kane. I can tell."

"Only the good kind," I shot back, and we both laughed, the tension breaking like a wave.

"I think we will make great friends" Audrey said, sipping on her cocktail.

We talked for hours, the bar emptying around us. I kept it light, letting her share what she wanted, but every word, every gesture, was a piece of the puzzle. Audrey Movitch was my way in, my key to unlocking whatever the Atlas Group was hiding. I didn't know what it was yet, but I felt it in my bones. There was something big enough that could improve my career. And as we clinked glasses, I knew I was closer than ever to finding it.