Chapter 6

Kingsley started, “I think the meeting went quite well, they—”

“They’re not going to invest,” Lorenzo cut in sharply.

The pair had just wrapped up the pitch they’d poured weeks into prepping. Kingsley had felt the energy in the room buzzing positively, but Lorenzo’s tight jaw and clipped stride as they exited the building painted a different picture. They headed down the sidewalk toward their office, only a short walk away under the afternoon sun.

“What? Why do you say that?” Kingsley pressed, his steps quickening to match Lorenzo’s.

“They didn’t fire off any questions at the end,” Lorenzo replied, as if stating an undeniable fact.

Kingsley’s forehead creased, his gaze darting sideways in bewilderment. “If our pitch hooked them, they’d have grilled us with a dozen follow-ups. But it didn’t, so they stayed silent.”

“Oh.” Kingsley’s shoulders dipped as the realization sank in. “Well, maybe they—”

“I’d rather not chase rainbows,” Lorenzo said, his voice firm. “That energy’s better spent hunting down other options.”

“Right,” Kingsley agreed, nodding decisively. “We’ve got four weeks left. I’ll pull together a list of prospects by end of day.”

“We?” Lorenzo echoed, glancing over. Kingsley nodded once more. “You don’t need to burn the midnight oil on this. It’s my neck on the block—no one else’s role shifts.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t fancy reporting to some ancient relic,” Kingsley shot back. “This is for my sanity, not yours.”

Lorenzo let out a low chuckle, his eyes flicking toward Kingsley, who stared straight ahead, hands shoved in his pockets. Sensing the gaze, Kingsley turned, catching Lorenzo’s look. He flashed a wink, his lips curling into a playful grin, then faced forward again.

Kingsley shifted the conversation to his closest friend, Roan, who handled deals at a venture firm. He kept expectations low, figuring Roan could at least arrange an intro to his higher-ups or tip them off to other funds eyeing tech startups.

What Kingsley held back was that he’d already looped in Roan and compiled that list. Ever since Lorenzo mentioned the risk of stepping down, Kingsley had braced for fallout. Now, he just awaited the green light to fire off those emails and book slots.

A surge of drive coursed through Kingsley—he couldn’t pinpoint the last time something gripped him like this. Lorenzo losing his spot? Unacceptable. He wouldn’t stand by.

They reached their floor and split: Lorenzo veered toward his corner office, while Kingsley detoured to the break room, craving a caffeine hit.

“Hey, man, how’d it play out?” Miles called, trailing in behind him.

“Fine, I suppose—time’ll tell,” Kingsley murmured, pouring steaming coffee into his mug.

“Fair enough.” Miles cleared his throat awkwardly, hovering beside the counter, his fingers twisting a stir stick.

The fidgeting caught Kingsley’s eye; he pivoted with a sigh. Miles avoided his gaze, cheeks flushing faintly. It struck Kingsley how Miles mirrored Nina’s polar opposite—her bold spark versus his timid shuffle. Yet, they clicked somehow.

“What’s up?” Kingsley prompted, sensing the unspoken weight.

“Uh, so there’s this guy—”

“You coming out?” Kingsley teased lightly.

“What? No!” Miles’s face bloomed crimson, eyes bulging. “I mean, I’ve got this buddy who’s gay, and I figured you two might—”

“Nope,” Kingsley shut it down.

“But you haven’t even—”

“I skip dates altogether, and setups? Hard pass.”

Kingsley crossed his arms.

“Come on, his name’s Jake—he’s solid,” Miles persisted, his brow knitting.

“What’s your angle here?” Kingsley’s eyes narrowed. This push felt off for Miles; Anwar usually played the meddler.

“Uh…” Miles scratched his neck. “Thought maybe a double date?”

“So, you’re chickening out on asking Nina solo and roping me and your pal as buffers?” Kingsley arched an eyebrow.

“Kinda…” Miles confessed, shoulders slumping.

“I really don’t date, Miles,” Kingsley reiterated.

Miles’s expression crumpled, a nod of resignation following. Kingsley exhaled; he wasn’t one for sentiment, but that downtrodden look could melt steel. “Fine—one outing. And you fetch my coffee for a week.”

“Deal!” Miles beamed, his posture straightening. “Thanks, dude. I owe you big.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kingsley dismissed it with a wave. “Just name the time and spot.”

“This Friday, post-work?” Miles ventured, hopeful.

“Sure.”

“What’s Friday post-work?” Anwar chimed in, striding through the door.

“Taking Miles to a gay strip joint,” Kingsley deadpanned.

“No, he’s—” Miles stammered, red-faced, as Anwar burst into laughter.

“Can I tag al—”

“Ah, crap, forgot to forward Mr. Salazar that report,” Kingsley interjected, spinning toward the exit.

“What report?” Anwar quizzed.

“Classified,” Kingsley tossed over his shoulder, bolting from the room. Not his call to loop Anwar in—that fell to Miles.

Back at his desk, Kingsley dove in, blasting emails to every viable lead. Four weeks to seal a seven-figure infusion? Tight, but he’d grind for Lorenzo’s sake.

As the day wound down, responses trickled in.

Most slotted meetings two weeks out at earliest. One outlier agreed to Thursday. That sliver of progress tugged a grin onto Kingsley’s lips as the clock neared five.

He rapped on Lorenzo’s door and eased it open. Lorenzo glanced up, finger to lips for silence, gesturing him inside amid a call.

Kingsley shut the door softly, then crossed to the seat opposite, settling in.

Lorenzo had ditched his jacket again, sleeves cuffed to his elbows, exposing toned forearms. The view stirred Kingsley as always, a twist low in his gut. His stare lingered, mind wandering to those arms pinning him, fingers circling his neck.

Fuck. Worst timing for arousal, but the desk concealed it. He shifted discreetly, already fully tented.

Lorenzo’s laugh yanked him back. Kingsley’s gaze lifted to his boss’s face, lit with a broad, genuine smile as he bantered on the line.

How could a grin hit like that? Kingsley marveled, heat pooling further.

“—alright, pleasure chatting, Mr. Denver. See you at your daughter’s wedding. Bye.”

Lorenzo hung up, the smile evaporating as he dragged a hand over his face, exhaustion etching his features.

“All good?” Kingsley inquired.

“Yeah, just acclimating to the schmoozing,” Lorenzo muttered.

“It smooths out eventually,” Kingsley offered. Lorenzo met his eyes, eyebrow quirking curiously.

“My grandma was a fixture in high society. Toted me to galas as a kid.”

“Intriguing,” Lorenzo mused, intrigue sparking in his stare. “Your folks?”

“What about ’em?” Kingsley shrugged, face impassive. He barreled on before probes deepened: “Catch the email I forwarded?”

“No, apologies—buried in tasks and calls,” Lorenzo sighed, swiveling to his screen. “You lined up a meeting?”

“Yeah, this Thursday,” Kingsley said, grinning.

“Fantastic!” Lorenzo rose, circling the desk toward him.

Kingsley’s eyes widened; he slapped hands over his lap, masking the lingering bulge. Lorenzo clapped his shoulder, perching on the table’s edge, peering down.

“Solid effort. Quick turnaround too,” Lorenzo praised.

“Just, y’know, justifying the salary,” Kingsley chuckled stiffly.

“Well, thanks,” Lorenzo said, checking his watch. “It’s five—head out.”

“Yep,” Kingsley nodded.

Lorenzo’s brows knit as Kingsley stayed put. The hint was clear: time to go. But standing risked exposure.

“Anything else?” Lorenzo probed.

“Nope,” Kingsley replied. He drew a breath, twisting his chair away so his back faced Lorenzo. He bolted upright, dodging eye contact, and hustled out, leaving Lorenzo staring after him in bafflement.