Chapter three

The door clicked shut.

Amani remained frozen behind the shelving unit.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Nothing.

No footsteps.

No voices.

No Clarissa.

Slowly, she released the breath she’d been holding.

“That was close.”

The words barely left her lips, Carefully, she stepped from her hiding place. The room was empty once more.

At least, it appeared to be. Amani put on the torch light once more, as she adjusted her glasses on her nose trying to see.

Her gaze returned to the drawer. To the folder. To the seal stamped across it.

VAUGHN EMPIRE - EXECUTIVE CLEARANCE

Curiosity twisted inside her.

Just one look, One quick glance, then she would put it back exactly where she found it, no one would ever know.

Amani reached for the folder and finally she opened it. The first page revealed a list of names. The second page held financial statements. The third…

A photograph slipped loose and drifted to the floor.

“Oh no.”

She crouched immediately.

The photograph slid farther beneath one of the nearby tables. Of course it did.

Muttering under her breath, Amani followed it. She stretched her arm underneath the table.

Almost.

A little farther.

Almost…

Got it.

Triumph flashed through her, her eyes glowing with childlike joy.

Right up until a polished dress shoe appeared directly in front of her face.

Amani froze wondering who it could be now, then slowly, very slowly, her eyes traveled upwards.

Tailored trousers.

Expensive watch.

Folded sleeves.

A smirk. A smirk?

A devastating one.

The kind that should probably require a permit. Yet it looked familiar, it felt familiar.

“Interesting place to take a break.”

Amani’s soul tried to leave her body. Nahhh, absolutely not, there was no way, No possible way.

The man crouched slightly, resting one arm on his knee. His eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Comfortable down there?”

Amani scrambled upright so quickly she nearly hit her head.

“I can explain.”

“Can you?”

His grin widened.

The answer, unfortunately, was no, She could not. Not even a little. For a moment neither of them spoke, Amani stared her mind racing a million lies per minute, yet she produced nothing.

The man noticed. Of course he noticed. People like him noticed everything, Recognition slowly dawned across his face.

And then came the smile, not polite nor professional but dangerously entertained.

“Wait.”

His head tilted.

“You know who I am.”

Heat flooded Amani’s cheeks.

This was a nightmare, A living, breathing nightmare.

Because yes.

She knew exactly who he was. The face from movie posters, Magazine covers, Red carpet interviews. The celebrity every streaming service seemed determined to recommend.

Avan Cole.

And she had just been caught crawling around beneath a table in front of him.

Wonderful.

Just wonderful.

Avan folded his arms.

“You look disappointed.”

“What?”

“Most people ask for a picture.”

Amani blinked.

Then, despite herself, a laugh escaped.

A small one.

But real.

Victory flashed across his face, As though making her laugh had been his objective all along.

“That’s better,” he said.

Then his eyes shifted toward the folder still resting on the table.

His smile softened, it was not gone completely but it was more curious.

“So.” he said as he stepped closer.

“What’s got you digging through executive files on your second day?”

Amani’s stomach dropped.

The folder.

Right.

She had forgotten about the folder. Oh heavens.

“I wasn’t …”

“Careful.”

His voice lowered slightly.

“That sentence usually ends badly.”

Amani opened her mouth, like a fish out of water.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Nothing useful emerged.

Avan seemed delighted by her suffering but that didn’t seem to last. How could it when life here only got worse by the minute.

A different voice spoke, this one was deep, calm, with an unmistakable authority.

“Mr. Cole.”

The change in Avan was immediate, Subtle? Yes, But immediate. The playful expression faded, not completely, but just enough to show that this famous god of a man was compelled to fold when another man speaks.

Enough to make Amani turn.

The voice had come from deeper inside the room.

A section she had not noticed before. A section she could not see still. It was a seating area tucked behind shelves and glass partitions.

Someone was there ,seated comfortably in a chair, one ankle resting over the opposite knee, fingers grazing a slight stubble on his chin. His demeanor calm but authoritative. His eyes suspicious, watching, not moving, not smiling.

Just watching.

And somehow…

That was worse.

A lot worse.

Amani could not clearly make out his face from where she stood. Only the outline, the posture, the presence, the feeling that the entire room belonged to him including the silence. then his gaze settled on her. And for reasons she could not explain, Amani’s heartbeat became completely unreliable.

“Who,” the man asked calmly,

“Is she?”

The question lingered in the room.

Who is she?

Amani’s throat went dry.

For the first time since Avan had appeared, the actor seemed… uncomfortable. It was subtle, a slight shift in his posture. a small glance toward the man seated behind him, the disappearance of that beautiful, effortless grin.

As though the room had suddenly become occupied by someone whose approval mattered.

“Easy there,” Avan said lightly.

But even he sounded less certain now.

Amani remained rooted to the spot. The folder rested forgotten on the table beside her. Her fingers twisted nervously around the cuff of her blouse.

The silence stretched heavily.

The man did not repeat himself.

He didn’t need to.

His attention remained fixed on her.

Amani could not fully make out his features from where he sat. But she could tell from his broad shoulders, and long legs crossed lazily a posture so relaxed it should have been harmless, that he was not a man to be trifled with.

Then he stood.

Amani’s breath caught.

The movement was unhurried.

Deliberate.

The kind of movement that made everyone else seem too fast. The closer he came, the more impossible it became to ignore his presence.

He was brooding, tall, Imposing, the dark fabric of his suit fit him perfectly. Every step echoed softly against the polished floor.

Amani’s pulse stumbled, accelerated, her head pounded senses dulled. Except her nose it seemed to be working overtime. Her eyes tried to adjust but failed miserably she couldn’t even bring herself to look up.

She hated that her body was betraying her.

Hated that her palms were sweating.

Hated that she suddenly couldn’t remember how normal people stood.

The scent of his cologne reached her before he did.

Subtle.

Expensive.

The kind of fragrance that lingered rather than announced itself.

For reasons she couldn’t explain, it made her even more nervous. Oh gods Amani cried out in her head. Whoever was listening she wanted the ground to open and swallow her whole this was all too much for one petite young woman.

He stopped directly in front of her.

Close enough.

Far too close.

Amani kept her eyes lowered not daring to look up. That was a mistake. A big one, because the polished leather of his shoes only made him seem taller, more intimidating.

Her heartbeat hammered against her ribs.

The silence became unbearable.

“Fuck.”

The word came out low.

Sharp, controlled, not angry, not shouted. But somehow that made it all worse.

Amani flinched.

His gaze never left her. Not once.

“Who is she?”

The question was directed elsewhere.

To Avan.

But those eyes remained fixed on her as if she were the answer, As if she were the problem.

Avan rubbed the back of his neck.

A rare sign of discomfort.

“She’s the one I told you about, Dre.”

The room seemed to still. Amani’s stomach tightened.

The one he told him about?

What did that mean?

Avan exhaled slowly. Then pointed his chin toward her with a helpless look.

“Amani George, our final piece”

Amani’s eye slowly drifted to Avan a look of confusion and betrayal in her eyes. Avan remained calm.

Tilting his head he raised his hand and wiggled his fingers mouthing a silent ‘Hi Amani’