Then, in a locked drawer I pry open with a paperclip, I find a notepad with scrawled names and numbers. “Rodrygo—10/2, 8 PM, The Vault.” “OV—transfer complete, 3M.”
Vague, but my gut says it’s tied to Obsidian Ventures and Victor Rodrygo, the cartel fixer Travis’s tracking. I snap a photo with my phone, my heart pounding, and keep digging.
Under a stack of contracts, there’s a flash drive, small and unmarked.
My breath catches.
This could be nothing—oreverything.
I slip it into my pocket, the weight of it heavy with possibility, and close the drawer, careful to leave no trace.
I’m out of the office in under five minutes, my prop papers clutched to my chest as I slip back to my desk. No one looks twice, the office still humming along, oblivious. My pulse doesn’t slow until I’m back at my computer, pretending to type, the flash drive a secret burning against my thigh.
I don’t know what’s on it, but I know it’s big. And I know I need Travis.
By the end of the workday, my nerves are shot, but I’m buzzing with adrenaline.
I text Travis:
MILES: Done. Meet me at The Sugar Spoon? Need to talk.
His reply is instant…
TRAVIS: Be there in 20. I’ll trail and make sure no one is following you. Stay safe.
I grab my backpack and head across town, the city’s evening lights flickering to life. The Sugar Spoon’s pink and yellow sign is a beacon of comfort, and when I step inside, the familiar scent of sugar and coffee wraps around me.
Travis’s arrive just after me and we immediately hit a corner booth, his black jacket blending with the shadows, his eyes locking onto me the second we sit down.
I get comfy in the booth, my heart skipping at the sight of him—broad shoulders, sharp jaw, that Daddy intensity that makes me feel safe and unsteady all at once.
“Hey,” I say, taking my cherished Bean out of my bag and setting him on the table. “Got something.”
Travis’s eyebrow raises, but he doesn’t push, just orders us a shared milkshake—chocolate, extra whipped cream. We sip from the same glass, our straws bumping, and it’s so normal, sous, that for a moment, I forget the danger.
But the flash drive’s weight pulls me back.
“I went into Knox’s office, Daddy,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Found a notepad with names—Rodrygo, Obsidian Ventures, some meeting details. Andthis.”
I slide the flash drive across the table, my fingers brushing his.
Travis’s eyes darken, and he pockets it, his jaw tight.
“Good work, Little. That’s… big,” Travis says. “Daddy is very proud of you, but you took a hell of a risk.”
“I had to,” I say, meeting his gaze. “I’m in this with you.”
He nods, a flicker of pride in his eyes, but I can see the tension in him too—the weight of the mission, the cartel, the threat.
The milkshake’s soon gone, and the air between us feels heavy, charged.
“We need to let off some steam,” I say, my voice softer, a little daring. “One of the playrooms?”
Travis’s grin is slow, wicked.
“You read my mind, Little.”
We head to the back, where Logan, the co-owner, nods us toward a private playroom. The door closes behind us, the pastel walls and plush rugs a familiar comfort, but my pulse is racing, my body alive with anticipation.
