The pattern became clear quickly: Kieran Cross had a type, and that type was sophisticated women who moved effortlessly in professional circles—women who could discuss wine pairings and art exhibitions and the kind of cultural events that required evening gowns and charity auction bidding.
Women who were nothing like me.
“Busy week for the boss,” David commented after Rebecca’s visit, noticing the way I was staring at the elevator doors where Kieran and his latest visitor had disappeared.
“I didn’t realize he was dating anyone.”
“He’s not, as far as I know. Kieran doesn’t really do relationships. But he has… friends. Lots of friends.”
The casual way David said it, like this was common knowledge around the office, made something twist uncomfortably in my stomach.
Of course Kieran hadfriends. Of course he had a carefully curated rotation of beautiful, successful women he could call when he wanted company that matched his polished, sophisticated lifestyle. Of course I was naïve to think that saving my life meant anything more than fulfilling an obligation to my brother.
During a client meeting that afternoon, I was taking notes when I overheard a conversation that made everything click into place. The client was Harrison Cole, CEO of a technology company whose name I recognized from business magazines.He outlined his security needs for an upcoming merger, speaking about the kinds of threats that came with visibility in the tech industry.
“The problem with most security firms,” he said, “is that they think protection is just about putting bodies between you and potential threats. But in my world, threats are sophisticated—corporate espionage, intellectual property theft, reputation management. I need a firm that understands how modern business really works.”
“Cross Security specializes in exactly those challenges,” Kieran replied. “We’re not just bodyguards. We’re strategic partners who understand that protecting your business means protecting your entire ecosystem.”
“I’ve heard good things about your work. But I have to be honest—most of my colleagues use larger firms. Sterling Protection. Blackstone Security. Companies with federal contracts and established government relationships.”
There it was again. The perception problem that surfaced in quiet conversations around the office, the invisible barrier keeping Cross Security from competing for clients who could fundamentally transform the company.
“We may be smaller than some of our competitors,” Kieran said, “but our track record speaks for itself. We’ve never had a security breach, never lost a client to an actual threat.”
“I’m sure your work is excellent. But in my position, I have to consider how things look to my board, my investors. They want to see industry leaders—not up-and-coming firms that might be exceptional but lack institutional credibility.”
After Cole left, I found myself replaying the conversation through a marketing lens. This wasn’t really about capability—Cross Security could clearly handle whatever Cole needed. This was about perception. About positioning. About the story the company was telling about itself.
They needed to change the narrative. Instead of competing on track record alone, they needed to emphasize innovation, cutting-edge technology, and the advantages of working with a firm unburdened by bureaucracy and outdated thinking.
They needed to make being smaller look like being better.
I started sketching ideas—bullet points, positioning statements, strategic frameworks that could reframe Cross Security as the boutique choice for discerning clients. The kind of firm Fortune 500 CEOs chose not because they had to, but because they were smart enough to recognize superior service when they saw it.
But even as I worked, I was painfully aware of my place in that world. I was the girl filing papers and answering phones, not someone whose strategic input carried weight. I was temporary help, not a partner in building something meaningful.
And every time another beautiful, accomplished woman arrived to whisk Kieran away to lunch or drinks or whatever sophisticated people did together. I was reminded that I didn’t belong here. That no matter how many ideas I had or how deeply I wanted to contribute, I would always be Jude’s little sister playing office in a world that had no space for me.
When I returned to the penthouse that evening, Kieran was working late again. I ate dinner alone while reviewing everything I had learned about his business. Cross Security was impressive, profitable, and positioned for growth, but it was also constrained by perceptions that could be reshaped with the right strategic approach.
I found myself wondering what it would be like to truly be part of building something like that. To use my skills and experience in service of something meaningful. To work alongside someone who valued my input instead of merely tolerating my presence.
But as I got ready for bed in the guest room of his immaculate penthouse, I forced myself to remember the reality of my situation. I was here temporarily, until I figured out what came next. Kieran had his sophisticated friends to keep him company, his thriving business to run, his carefully ordered life—one that didn’t have room for someone like me.
I was learning about his empire, but I would never be part of it.
And the sooner I accepted that, the sooner I could begin planning for whatever came after this strange interlude in a world where I didn’t belong.
12KIERAN
The callfrom Marcus Webb came at seven in the morning, three weeks after I abandoned him at that gallery opening to chase after a woman who was slowly driving me insane with want and frustration. I was in my office early, trying to focus on quarterly projections instead of the image burned into my mind—Willa eating breakfast in my kitchen when I left, her hair still messy from sleep, her legs bare beneath one of my old Columbia T-shirts that she somehow made look better than any designer dress.
“Kieran,” Webb’s voice carried the kind of authority that came with controlling billions in assets. “I think it’s time for us to have that conversation.”
“About the gallery opening? Marcus, I can explain?—”
“Not about the gallery. About the future of Cross Security.”
