Leonard sat at his desk, motionless, a finger idly circling the rim of his coffee cup. The once-steaming drink had long gone cold, untouched. His gaze was fixed sowhere out the window, but his mind wasn’t with the skyline.
Instead, it was replaying the earlier mont at the coffee shop—the bump, the spilled drink, the quiet panic in Katherine’s eyes. It had been ssy, rushed, and awkward, but it had been sothing. They’d spoken, however briefly. And despite how it ended, he counted it as a victory.
He tilted his head back slightly, the ghost of a smile brushing his lips. "Of all the ways," he murmured to himself, his voice low and sardonic, "it had to be coffee."
The mory of her rolled-up sleeves, her warm fingers checking the redness on his forearm, flickered in his mind. It was a simple, automatic gesture of concern, but it had struck him. Not because of what it ant now, but because of what they had been. Or rather, what they could have been.
She didn’t have to do anything.
She could’ve left.
She should’ve, if she knew better.
That thought rooted itself in Leonard’s mind. She could’ve just walked off—said sorry, laughed it off, maybe made so offhand comnt about him needing to be more careful next ti.
But she hadn’t walked away.
She stayed.
He leaned back, rubbing his jaw. "It’s gotta be one of two things," he muttered. "Either she’s just being responsible... making sure the idiot she spilled coffee on didn’t sue her."
His voice was dry, bitter, but the words rang hollow even to his own ears.
"Or..."
He hesitated. Let the weight of the thought settle before he dared say it aloud.
"Or she wanted to check on . Because she gave a damn."
He swallowed hard.
It ant that, despite everything—despite his mistakes, despite the silence between them, despite the looks they no longer exchanged the way they used to—there was still sothing in her that hadn’t shut him out completely.
He wanted to believe that she’d stayed not out of guilt, not out of obligation, but because sowhere inside, Katherine still cared.
Even just a little.
He ran a hand through his hair and looked out the window, the city outside already buzzing to life. "Yeah," he said under his breath, voice rough. "I’m gonna believe that."
A sudden buzz on his phone snapped him from his reverie. The screen lit up with a na, and Leonard instantly straightened in his seat. The tension in his shoulders hardened. He accepted the call.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Ford," ca the smooth voice on the other end.
"I believe you have what I asked for," Leonard replied evenly, his tone devoid of any pleasantries.
"Naturally," the man said, almost smug. "I’ve never missed a deadline."
"Good. Send the results to my email. No need for a face-to-face."
"Understood. Although," the man added with a note of curiosity, "I must say, this one doesn’t leave much of a trail. Pretty private life, just like you. Nothing scandalous, nothing unusual."
Leonard’s jaw clenched. "Doesn’t matter. Send the file."
"Already done. You’ll find it in your inbox. Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Ford."
Leonard ended the call without another word. He set the phone down, screen-up for a mont, then flipped it face-down on the desk, as though trying to keep the contents hidden even from the empty room.
He opened his laptop and imdiately clicked into his inbox, fingers tapping impatiently as the page loaded. His heart rate quickened despite himself. A mont later, the subject line appeared: Background Report: Felix Crawford.
He clicked.
Before the file fully opened, a knock ca at the door.
Leonard inhaled sharply, jaw tightening with irritation. He minimized the file, dragging the window to the corner of the screen, and called out, "Co in."
The door opened to reveal Becca, her usual confident poise slightly shaken. She clutched a notepad tightly against her chest.
"What is it?" Leonard asked.
"The receptionist just called," she said. "There’s a woman downstairs insisting on eting with you. She won’t leave."
Leonard arched a brow. "Na?"
Becca hesitated. "Miranda Kingsley."
At the sound of the na, Leonard’s expression darkened instantly. The easy control he maintained cracked for just a second. His lips pressed into a hard line, and the air in the room seed to shift.
Becca lingered in the doorway, unease flickering across her face. "She said... she won’t leave until she gets to see you. Her words exactly."
Leonard’s eyes narrowed, his tone dipping to sothing low and bitter. "Of course she is." He turned slightly, walking toward the window. Then, almost to himself, he muttered, "What a shaless woman."
Becca blinked and swallowed, pretended not to hear the venom laced in those words. "Should I... tell her you’re unavailable?"
Leonard didn’t answer right away. He turned back to his desk, dragging a hand down his face before settling into his chair with calm. "I am busy," he said flatly. "I can’t et with anyone right now. Not her. Not anyone."
Becca nodded quickly, already stepping back. "Understood."
"And Becca," he added, his voice cold, "If in the future that woman shows up again... don’t entertain her. Don’t co in here. Just reject her outright."
Becca’s brow furrowed faintly, but she said nothing.
Leonard’s gaze lifted, sharp now, cutting through the space between them. "If she refuses to leave, I want security called. Have them drag her out, and throw her onto the street if they have to. I don’t care who’s watching."
Becca stared for a heartbeat longer than she should have, then gave a crisp nod. "Yes, sir."
As soon as she was gone, Leonard stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back with a frustrated scrape. He paced to the window, both hands on his hips, staring out at the horizon.
Outside, the sky had begun to shift. A collection of dark clouds had rolled in, heavy with threat. The once-clear blue had dimd to a steely gray. The kind of sky that whispered of a coming storm.
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