Maya showed up at seven PM with two bottles of wine and a look that said this wasn't a social call.
"We need to talk," she said, pushing past me into the apartment.
"Hello to you too."
She set the wine on my counter, grabbed two glasses from the cabinet like she owned the place, and poured generous amounts into both.
"Sit," she commanded.
"Maya..."
"Sit."
I sat.
She handed me a glass and perched on the arm of my couch, studying me like I was a specimen under glass.
"What's this about?" I asked.
"Something's been bothering me about this your new relationship with Jackson," she said quietly. "This Alex Porter person. I can't find them anywhere. LinkedIn. Company website. Nothing."
"They're private..."
"Sloane. No one is that private. Not in marketing." She leaned forward. "So I'm
