Yet as I settled, determination replaced my initial anger. Langston thought he could break me by sticking me in this dank hole? He had another thing coming. I’d climbed Machu Picchu with food poisoning. I’d navigated Rio’s favelas alone at night. I’d survived the collapse of every dream I’d ever had.
A basement in suburban Goodwin Grove wasn’t going to be the thing that finally took me down.
I straightened my spine, adjusted the wobbly chair, and faced the mountain of neglected paperwork with the same resolve that carried me through the darkest moments of the past year, one file at a time, one day at a time. I’d show Langston Black exactly what I was made of, even if I had to do it from the basement of his precious company.
After all, I’d saved his future once before. Now it was time to salvage what was left of mine.
Chapter
Four
LANGSTON
I arrived at the office at 7:00 a.m. today, needing extra time to prepare in case Aven had already quit and to work on the Westwood project. Part of me hoped she had. The basement assignment was meant to push her away without explicitly showing her the door, a petty move I wasn’t particularly proud of but one that seemed necessary after she waltzed back into my life with demands and reminders I’d rather forget.
The key card reader beeped as I swiped my way into the building. I preferred being the first one in, setting the tone for the day before anyone else could disrupt it.
I hung my suit jacket on the coat rack inside my office door, rolled up my sleeves, and loosened my tie. There were no clients to impress at this hour. It was just me and the mountain of Westridge background checks that needed my personal attention before today’s deadline. First, I needed coffee.
The thought of Aven surrounded by old paperwork sitting in the dusty basement yesterday sent an unexpected pang of guilt through my chest. I’d meant it as a test. No one lasted more than a few hours before begging to be reassigned or quitting outright.The last temp only lasted exactly two hours before claiming a sudden onset of claustrophobia.
“She’s gone, probably halfway back to wherever the hell she’s been for the past fifteen years,” I muttered to myself, pouring coffee into my mug.
And yet, as I took the first sip of bitter black coffee, I couldn’t help but remember the determination I’d seen flash in her eyes before Tamika had led her downstairs. The familiar stubborn set to her jaw that once convinced a sheriff she was telling the truth when every word was a lie crafted to save my ass.
I paused, coffee halfway to my lips. The basement door was ajar, light spilling out into the hallway. The cleaning crew didn’t bother with the basement. Part of their contract exempted spaces not regularly used by clients or staff. And I’d given strict instructions that no one was to help Aven with her assignment. This was between her and me.
As I pushed the door open wider, the unmistakable scent of fresh coffee, better than the break room sludge I was currently drinking, wafted up the stairs. Music played softly from somewhere below, not like a phone speaker but something richer with actual bass notes that vibrated subtly through the stairwell.
I descended slowly, each step revealing more surprises. The sickly fluorescent lights had been replaced with what looked like three mismatched floor lamps, transforming the concrete dungeon into something almost… cozy. The dripping pipe had been wrapped in some kind of insulating tape, silencing its persistent drip.
And then there was Aven herself.
She’d replaced the card table with a decent-sized desk I vaguely recognized from our storage closet upstairs, a forgotten piece of furniture from when we’d upgraded the office three years ago. Her back was to me as she typed away on the ancientcomputer, which now had a second monitor connected to it. She wore a yellow dress which seemed to generate its own light in the basement gloom. The color was so vibrant it almost hurt to look at.
She hadn’t noticed me yet, too absorbed in whatever she was doing. The area was cleaner, fresh with Pine-Sol instead of mildew and neglect.
“You’re here early,” I acknowledged, my voice coming out rougher than intended.
Aven jumped, swiveling in her chair to face me.
Aven gasped, then caught herself, straightening in the chair. “Jesus, Lang! Wear a bell or something.” She laughed, clutching her chest.
Up close, the yellow dress was more striking. It was the same sunshine shade as the sundress she’d worn the day she’d lied to the sheriff for me. Her hair hung around her shoulders.
“Morning, boss. Coffee? It’s Brazilian. Way better than whatever you’re drinking.” Her voice held none of the resentment I’d expected. Instead, it was almost teasing.
I glanced down at my own mug, then back at her. “How long have you been here?”
“Since six. Jet lag has got me all twisted up. Figured I might as well be productive.” She turned back to the computer, saving her work before giving me her full attention again.
“Since six, and you’ve been… cleaning and redecorating?” I repeated, trying to process she had beaten me to the office by a full hour.
She shrugged, the movement causing the yellow fabric to shift across her shoulders. “Just making the space functional. I hope you don’t mind; I borrowed a few things from upstairs. The lamps were in the supply closet collecting dust, and this desk was literally being used to store broken office chairs.”
I took a cautious step further into the room, taking in more details. A sizable number of files were now organized into neat stacks, each with a color-coded label.
“You did all this in an hour?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief from my voice.
