Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Tessa cuts me off with a gentle side-eye and the kind of voice she reserves for panicking freshmen and grown women on the verge of a meltdown. “Breathe, Cyd. Don’t panic yet. We’ll think of something.”
I take several deep breaths while terror flows through me on a constant loop. “We need to talk to someone about this,” I manage to mutter.
“Oliver might know something about this—he’s practically a real estate ninja,” Tessa reminds me.
I blink.
She’s right. If anyone can untangle this, it’s Oliver Burkhardt, the man who literally makes business drama his breakfast. I barely have a second to bask in the comfort of having a real estate ninja boyfriend.
She gives my hand a quick squeeze, then tucks the letter back into its envelope with the kind of reverence usually reserved for death threats and overdue bills. “It’s dead in here. Why don’t you take this to him now and let him have a look?”
“You’re right.” I grab the letter and my purse, adrenaline already starting to fizz in my veins.
“Can you say that again so I can record it?” Tessa teases, easing the tension a little. “For future use.”
I pause by the prep table, just long enough to mask my nerves with a little bravado. “Don’t press your luck.”
Tessa grins, already spinning into action behind the counter. “Get out of here while I bask in the glow of your admission.”
I take a final look around the shop. This is my home.
No way am I letting it slip away without a fight.
I square my shoulders, force my chin up, and stride through the lobby, the letter clamped tight in my fist.
It’s go time.
The ride to Oliver’s office only takes ten minutes, but it still feels like forever. I stride through the chrome and steel lobby and press the elevator button. One of the shiny doors opens immediately, and I step in.
My knee starts bouncing the second I hit the button for the top floor, and the ride feels like it takes a literal century. I clutch the envelope so tightly it cuts into my palm, and every time the numbers blink, my stomach does a full somersault.
Come on, come on, come on.
When the doors finally ping open, it’s straight out of a luxury business magazine. Holy wow. The reception area outside Oliver’s office is nothing but sleek lines and muted drama: gray walls, glass accents, warm golden lighting. There are precisely arranged chairs that look too expensive to actually sit in, and a giant abstract painting that probably cost more than my entire shop fit-out.
But the queen behind the front desk is basically the best part. She’s maybe late fifties or early sixties, salt-and-pepper hair in a sharp pixie cut, and reading glasses perched just so on the bridge of her nose. Her outfit is a killer combo of navy blazer, silk scarf, and the kind of necklace you’d steal from your mom’s jewelry drawer if you had the guts.
She glances up the second I step in. A warm, real-deal smile flashes across her face, easing the tension.
“Hello. How can I help you?” Her voice is smooth and comforting.
I nearly fumble the reply. “I need to see Oliver Burkhardt.”
“Does he know you’re coming, Cydney?” Her gaze flickers to the envelope clutched tight in my hand, and a sharp pinch of embarrassment runs through me. I should have called or sent a text first. Total rookie move.
But then her question lands. “How do you know my name?” The envelope burning my palm fades from my mind, curiosity sparking instead.
She grins, slow and easy. “Oliver has a picture of you on his desk.” My insides melt into syrup, a heavy swell of sweet warmth almost making me forget why I’m here. Almost.
“I need to show him this letter. It’s urgent.” I wave the damn envelope, the edges biting into my fingers.
She gives me a knowing smile, reassuring—a warm hand on my nerves. “Hold on one second, and I’ll let him know you’re here.”
She turns, voice low and smooth. “Oliver, your adorable girlfriend is here. She has an urgent document you’ll want to see.”
She listens, nods, then flashes me a discreet little thumbs up. “He’ll see you right away. Follow me and I’ll take you to his office.”
I exhale so hard my vision wobbles for a second.
She moves with the kind of controlled grace that only comes from decades of not putting up with anyone’s nonsense. “I’m Helen. In case you need anything else, just let me know.” Her smile is a conspiratorial little secret between new allies, and honestly, I want to hug her.
“Thank you,” I breathe as she leads me down a wide hallway, shoes making these soft, exact clicks on the polished floors.
The walls are lined with framed certificates and awards—some are big, glossy deal trophies with company names I barely recognize, but a few are old-school. Businessman of the Year, Regional Rising Star, and some photo of Oliver shaking hands with a politician.