My stomach turns, steady and ugly.
This is not coincidence. It’s pressure, focused and close.
Sabrina interrupted my date and got removed. Gavin shows up near Lila’s office. Victoria has a history with me that the city never gets tired of gossiping about. There was the fraud mess years ago, the internal investigation, Dan’s systems work, Victoria’s name, and mine. I was not the villain in that story, but you don’t need to be guilty to get painted.
I take a screenshot, then stop myself and lock the phone, because collecting evidence without her consent puts me in the same category as the men she keeps outrunning.
I call my PI, Adam, instead.
“Check on something for me,” I say.
He replies instantly, ready for whatever assignment I have for him. “Say it.”
“Can you find out if Victoria’s got a Gavin Hale working for her?”
A pause. Then Adam’s keyboard clicks in the background, fast. “Give me a minute.”
I wait, looking out at the lights, and I hate that Lane’s name is back near my life.
Adam comes back on. “He’s real. Hired six months ago. Client facing. Not a temp.”
“How close is Sabrina?” I ask.
“Mm hm,” he replies. “Partnerships. She’s very close to Victoria.”
I exhale through my nose and my hand slides to my collar, thumb pressing the knot that isn’t even there.
“Are you worried about her?” he asks. “Something you need done?”
I click my tongue against my teeth. “I’m not quite sure yet.”
“Tell me you’re not about to go hunting?” he says.
“I’m not,” I answer, and then I add, “unless Lila asks.”
Adam’s voice softens by half a notch. “Lila Bennett?”
I sigh. “Yeah, the very same.”
He whistles low in his throat. “Wow. I didn’t know?—”
“Are you going to make a thing of it?”
I can hear him shake his head. “Nah, my guy. But be careful.”
The next day, I try to respect her.
I don’t text, call, or walk past her desk, pretending it’s casual. I do my meetings, I sign what needs signing, and I keep my hands busy so my head doesn’t start inventing worst cases.
By ten, I know she isn’t coming in.
Her desk is empty. No message. No sick leave note. Nothing.
I go to HR.
Marta looks up and her fingers press into the arm of her chair, just a small adjustment that tells me she already knows this won’t be pleasant.
“Sir?” she says.
