Marcus
Elena shows up unannounced, breezing into my office like she owns the place.
Which, to be fair, she partially does.
I didn’t expect her back so soon. She took a few days off to go to Europe. She dropped some hints about possible expansion and new investments, but I assumed she just needed a break and didn’t want to admit that even she runs out of steam sometimes.
"You look like someone who's seen a ghost," she says, smiling as she walks in, her heels clicking with practiced authority.
ElenaThe secret to lying well is to tell the truth. Or, at least, something that looks close enough to it that no one bothers to question the shine.Which is why I let the words fall the way I do. Not harsh, not cutting. Just casual, like a sigh wrapped in silk.“Marcus?” I say to Yvette, one of our more talkative vendors, while we stand by the refreshment table after a midweek Platinum event. “Oh, he’s brilliant. Smart, steady. But between you and me, he has a temper. You know the type. Fiery, loyal, the kind of man who doesn’t let go of a grudge.”Yvette’s eyebrows lift, intrigued. Exactly the response I wanted. Curiosity is contagious, and gossip spreads faster than champagne at one of these mixers.I add the finishing touch, an artful wince, softened with a quick laugh. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s a wonderful partner to have in this business. Just… complicated. But aren’t the best men always the complicated ones?”I watch it land. Not heavy enough to bruise, but sharp enough to lin
MarcusSilence is a funny thing. You think you want it, until you’re staring it in the face and it’s not peace at all. It’s absence. It’s unanswered texts and calls that don’t come. It’s Sophia retreating into a version of herself I can’t reach.I tell myself it’s fine. I tell myself people get busy, that she has a life outside the orbit of mine, that not hearing from her for a day isn’t a tragedy. But I don’t believe myself. Not really.It’s not that I expect her to report in. She’s not a rogue agent, she’s a woman I’m attracted to. But the distance feels deliberate, like a door quietly being closed, and I can’t stop thinking about the coffee invite I sent. About the way she never replied.It shouldn’t matter this much. It still does.The Bureau would love this, if they knew. Gillespie in particular. She’s repeatedly made it clear I should keep things “professional.” Like I don’t know that already. Like I had a choice in the way my pulse speeds up and my heart somersaults every time
SophiaThere are small ways the world tells you to be afraid, and then there are Platinum-sized ways. Today’s is the kind that arrives folded into a name card, like a polite weapon slid across a linen tablecloth.I’m at a Platinum “client appreciation” luncheon. One of those events that smells like petit fours and suppressed panic. Elena organized it, which is the reason the whole room is an exercise in polished menace. She throws charm the way other people throw glitter, but the glitter with her always has a weight to it. I tell myself I’m here because it’s research.I’m hovering by the canapé table because the lobster bites are strategically located next to the prawn skewers, and because watching people being casually affluent is fascinating. Preston is here, shaking hands with a man whose smile could fund three start-ups. Marcus is across the room, in his element, talking in low, measured sentences that make the people surrounding him lean in like they are about to receive scrip
SophiaBrunch at Jamie’s is one of those small domestic miracles that somehow survives the chaos of our lives.Too many pillows, a phone that only plays songs you can whistle to, and the smell of something buttered and suspiciously good coming from his tiny stove.Today it’s fluffy blueberry pancakes, the kind that fold in on themselves like tiny, happy sighs. He flips them with the theatrical precision of someone who’s been watched performing this exact motion a hundred times and knows precisely when the applause will come.“You’re here,” he says the moment I sit down, syrup already making a small, reckless arc from the decanter, “But you’re not here.”It’s soft, not a theatrical ambush. Jamie is good at being gentle without making it sound like pity. He leans on the counter, chin in hand, and squints like he’s trying to read me in the lazy light of Saturday.“Do you mean emotionally or physically?” I ask, because sarcasm is a reflex and I haven’t had my coffee yet.“Both,” he says,
MarcusThere are two kinds of discoveries. The neat, satisfying kind that makes your spine buzz with the pleasure of solving a puzzle, and the kind that drops like a stone into your gut. The Marrin–Bainbridge overlap is both.I find it in a dusty batch of corporate calendars. An innocuous scan someone misfiled. Marrin met a Bainbridge executive during the exact three-day gap in Pemberton’s financial records. Not before, not after, right in the place we could never account for. It’s the sort of tiny, careful detail that turns coincidence into pattern.I call Gillespie because that’s what you do when you find a hot thread and want to temper the impulse to yank at it until the whole thing unravels. She answers on the second ring, all clipped and efficient.“Goddammit Marcus! How many ways do you need me to tell you to drop this?” she asks furiously before I finish explaining. “Rodriguez doesn’t want heat on Bainbridge yet! You pushing here pulls fire to the whole op.”“Because you think
SophiaPlatinum’s office is too polished. Originally I found it elegant. Appreciating that it’s designed to look timeless. But lately it always feels a little like it’s hiding something.Elena greets me in the lobby like we’re girlfriends out for brunch. “Sophia! I’m so glad you could pop in. Come, let’s sit.” Weird, but okay, sure.Her dress is cream silk, draping perfectly, her heels clicking against marble as we cross into a private lounge. She pours sparkling water for both of us without asking whether I want any, sliding the crystal glass over to me like it’s all part of her choreography.“So,” she says brightly, folding her legs with impossible elegance. “How are things with Preston? He’s been practically glowing whenever your name comes up.”I school my face into something neutral. “He’s… good. Really nice. Always a gentleman.”Her eyes gleam with subtle satisfaction, as if she’s scored a point on a board I can’t see. “Of course he is. He’s exactly the sort of man I knew you’d