Falling In Love With You

Chapter 6

Sera

The morning sun hit the glass of the Vance building like a spotlight, blinding and unforgiving. By 9:00 AM, I was already on my third espresso, sitting at the head of a conference table that felt three miles long.

"The demographics are shifting, Seraphine," my father’s voice rumbled from the speakerphone. He was in London for the week, but his presence always felt like it was hovering right over my shoulder. "We need the luxury market to feel 'attainable' but 'exclusive.' You’re the face of this campaign. Make sure you look the part at the gala on Saturday."

"I understand, Father," I said, my pen drawing a sharp, jagged line across my legal pad.

"Good. Elias says you’ve been a bit... distracted lately. Focus, Sera. This firm is your legacy."

The line went dead. I stared at the phone, my jaw tight. Distracted. That was Elias’s way of punishing me for saying no to dinner. He couldn't handle the fact that I was his superior in some ways and his equal in others, so he whispered in my father's ear like a poisonous snake.

I stood up, smoothed out my charcoal pencil skirt, and walked toward my office. My assistant, a jittery young man named Mark, scurried after me.

"Miss McBurry, Mr. Elias sent these over. He said they're 'essential reading' for the afternoon brief."

He handed me a stack of folders. I took them, my fingers brushing the heavy cardstock. I didn't need to open them to know they were mostly busywork—more ways for Elias to justify popping into my office every twenty minutes.

I spent the next four hours drowning in numbers. ROI, market penetration, consumer sentiment. By 2:00 PM, the walls of my office felt like they were shrinking. The scent of the lilies on my desk, usually sweet, was starting to smell like a funeral.

I looked at my reflection in the dark screen of my computer. My makeup was perfect. My hair hadn't moved a millimeter. I looked like a doll.

I grabbed my bag, a sudden, sharp impulse blooming in my chest.

"Mark," I called out, stepping into the hallway. "I’m taking the rest of the afternoon for 'field research.' Cancel my 4:00 PM."

"Field research? But Miss McBurry, the gala prep—"

"I need to see the city, Mark. Not just the view from here," I said, not waiting for his response.

I didn't call Arthur. I didn't want the town car. I walked out of the lobby and took a deep breath of the city air—hot, exhaust-filled, and wonderfully chaotic. I started walking south, leaving the polished sidewalks of Midtown behind.

The further I walked, the more the colors changed. The gray stone turned to red brick. The suits turned into denim and leather. My heart began to drum a nervous, excited rhythm against my ribs. I was a fish out of water, my silk blouse and high heels completely out of place, but for the first time in weeks, I didn't feel like I was acting.

I found myself wandering into the Lower East Side, the very neighborhood the girl on the motorcycle had vanished into. I told myself I was just looking for a boutique or a hidden cafe, but my eyes kept scanning the street for a flash of black leather or a sign that looked like it belonged to a tattoo artist.

I turned a corner onto a narrow, shadowed street, and that’s when I saw it. A black iron gate, a basement entrance, and a small, understated sign with elegant, jagged lettering.

Inked by K.

My breath hitched. I stood there on the sidewalk, a "classy girl" in a thousand-dollar outfit, staring at a tattoo shop like it was an entrance to another dimension.