Jemma suggested a small diner two blocks down.Cheap.Quiet.She named it without hesitation, probably trying to avoid the kind of restaurant that would draw attention.
Five minutes later, they were seated at a chipped Formica table.He slapped the plastic-coated menu down with a loud smack.
“Okay.Spill it.”
Across from him, Jemma blinked once.Her hazel eyes didn’t show surprise.She’d known this was coming.
Still, she slowly lowered her own menu and set it neatly on the table.Then she folded her hands, steady but wary.
“What do you want to know?”she asked.
“Everything,” he said flatly.“I’ve seen the numbers.I know Sinstack is circling the drain.I also know the Overlock board previously labeled the company a tolerable loss.I only bought in for the other subsidiaries that are much more profitable.But after what I saw this morning, I disagree about the tolerable loss designation.There’s no excuse for the level of incompetence that I witnessed today.”He leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, voice pitched low.“There’s real potential here.The design team’s work was surprisingly fresh, but their concepts aren’t being greenlit.The fabrics are garbage, but even that could be spun with decent marketing.The companyshouldbe profitable.”
He studied her face.Her lips had pressed into a firm, unreadable line.
“And I know you,” he continued.“You see it.Youknowexactly what’s wrong.But you’re still not talking.”
She looked away.
And that was what set his nerves on edge.
Jemma didn’t avoid eye contact.Not unless she was trying to protect someone.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
He noticed the way her entire body tensed.Just a fraction.Just enough.
He grabbed it.
“Saif!”she hissed, lunging forward, trying to snatch it back.
But he was faster.He caught her wrist in one hand and angled the phone toward him with the other.
A message blinked on the screen—just a few words visible before it disappeared.
He didn’t hesitate.He tapped in her old password.
“Saif, don’t—” she hissed again, glancing around the café.
But the surrounding diners weren’t watching.His security had taken over the nearby tables, forming a bubble of privacy around them.
“I’m just checking to see if you changed your password,” he said calmly, typing with one thumb.“Apparently not.”
With practiced ease, he opened the messages.
Scrolled.
Stopped.
His jaw tightened.
“Does Markalwayssend you messages like this?”His voice was quiet.Controlled.Lethal.
Jemma tried to grab the phone again, but he yanked it just out of her reach.
“Tell me,” he said, eyes locked on hers.
Then, without waiting for permission, he resumed scrolling.
