Time-sensitive opportunities.
She exhaled slowly through her nose.
Enough.
Her phone buzzed before she could type a reply.
Izzy.
She didn’t answer it.
Instead, she texted first.
Come over. We need to talk. Now.
No explanation. No softness.
Just the weight of a full stop.
Izzy arrived twenty minutes later.
Becca watched his headlights pull in from the window, her arms folded tight across her chest. She didn’t rush to the door. Let him knock. Let him feel the pause.
When she finally opened it, she didn’t step aside right away.
“You’re home early,” he said, like that meant something.
“Come in,” she replied flatly.
He did, eyes scanning the room the way they always did — not curious, not impressed. Calculating.
They stood across from each other in the living room, distance carved clean between them.
“I know about the shop,” Becca said.
Izzy stiffened. Just a flicker.But she saw it.
“What about it?” he asked.
“Don’t do that,” she snapped. “Don’t pretend. I know you and Jenna have been circling it. Talking to the same agent. Trying to buy it out from under me.”
His jaw clenched.
“That’s not—”
“Stop,” she cut in. Her voice was calm, but it burned. “I didn’t call you here to argue semantics. I called you here because I want the truth.”
For a moment, he said nothing. Then he laughed — sharp, humorless.
“You don’t even know who you’re dealing with,” he said. “You think this is just business?”
Becca’s phone buzzed on the counter.
Once.
Twice.
She ignored it.
