Chapter 3
1151 Words
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Leila got home a little after midnight.
The city was quieter, but New York never truly slept. A taxi drove past her building. Somewhere in the distance, a siren echoed through the night.
She dropped her camera bag on the table and stood still for a moment.
The gala had gone well.
The photos were good.
The magazine would pay her.
Everything should have felt normal.
But it didn't.
Something about the night stayed with her.
Or rather, someone.
Adrian Kincaid.
Leila sighed and kicked off her heels.
She had photographed rich and powerful men before. Men who thought money could solve every problem. Men who expected people to admire them.
Adrian was different.
Not because he was louder.
Not because he demanded attention.
He simply carried himself like he belonged wherever he stood.
And somehow, that was worse.
Leila shook her head.
She needed to stop thinking about him.
Her phone buzzed.
It was a message from Simi.
Simi:
So? Tell me everything. Is he ugly in real life? 😏
Leila laughed.
Leila:
No. Sadly, he's not.
A second later, her phone rang.
Simi.
Of course.
Leila answered.
"You really don't sleep, do you?"
"Neither do you," Simi replied. "Now talk."
Leila sat on the couch.
"It was just a gala. Rich people showing off. Expensive drinks. Fancy speeches."
"And Adrian Kincaid?"
Leila looked at the ceiling.
"He noticed me."
There was silence.
Then Simi gasped dramatically.
"Noticed you how?"
Leila thought for a moment.
"Like I was a puzzle he wanted to solve."
Simi laughed.
"Oh, that's dangerous."
"It's annoying."
"Mhmm. What else happened?"
Leila hesitated.
"He asked for my photos."
"Did he flirt?"
Maybe.
She remembered his smile.
The way he had looked directly at her.
"A little."
"Leila!"
"What?"
"You're smiling."
"I'm not."
"You are."
Leila covered her face with one hand.
"Go to sleep."
"No. This conversation is much more interesting."
For the next few minutes they joked about rich people, oversized champagne glasses, and charity events.
Talking to Simi always helped.
She made everything feel lighter.
Eventually they hung up.
Leila changed into comfortable clothes and got into bed.
But sleep didn't come.
She stared at the ceiling.
The apartment was quiet.
Still, her thoughts kept returning to Adrian.
The way he watched people.
The way he spoke.
The feeling that he noticed more than he showed.
It bothered her.
Eventually she fell asleep.
The next morning, city noise woke her early.
She showered, made tea, and opened her laptop.
Her editor wanted the gala photos by noon.
Leila got to work.
She sorted through hundreds of images.
A woman laughing near the stage.
A waiter carrying too many drinks.
A donor secretly admiring herself in a window.
Then she reached Adrian's photos.
Leila paused.
He looked even more impressive through the camera lens.
Not soft.
Not charming in an easy way.
There was something sharp about him.
Controlled.
Focused.
Like a man who never lost because he refused to quit.
She clicked through the images.
One photo caught her attention.
It had been taken during his speech.
The light hit his face differently.
For once, he didn't look like a businessman or a public figure.
He looked human.
Less guarded.
Leila stared at it for a few seconds.
Then she saved it in a separate folder.
Immediately she regretted it.
"Don't be ridiculous," she muttered.
Just then, the door buzzer rang.
She frowned.
Nobody visited this early.
Simi always texted first.
Her landlord never came upstairs unless something was broken.
She pressed the intercom button.
"Hello?"
A man's voice answered.
"Delivery for Miss Okoye."
Leila frowned.
"Delivery from who?"
"Kincaid Group."
Her stomach tightened.
Slowly, she opened the apartment door.
A delivery man stood in the hallway holding a small package.
She signed for it and closed the door.
For a moment, she simply stared at the box.
It was wrapped neatly in white paper.
Her name was written on the front.
Nothing else.
Leila placed it on the table.
Then she opened it.
Inside was a camera strap made from black leather.
Beautiful leather.
Expensive leather.
Attached to it was a small silver plate.
Her name was engraved on it.
Leila blinked.
Once.
Twice.
This wasn't a random gift.
It had been chosen carefully.
Which somehow made it worse.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time it was an email.
The subject line read:
Private Commission
Leila opened it.
The message was short.
Professional.
Adrian Kincaid wanted to hire her for a private photography project connected to his arts foundation.
The payment was excellent.
Far better than anything she usually earned.
The email also mentioned that he admired her work and wanted to discuss future opportunities.
Leila read it again.
And again.
Most photographers would celebrate.
This kind of opportunity could change careers.
It meant money.
Connections.
Visibility.
Everything she had worked toward.
Yet she couldn't relax.
Because this felt personal.
The camera strap sat on the table beside her.
The email glowed on her screen.
Neither felt accidental.
Adrian wasn't simply hiring a photographer.
He was reaching out to her.
That thought made her uneasy.
Her phone rang.
Unknown number.
Leila stared at the screen.
It rang again.
And again.
Finally, she answered.
"Hello?"
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then a calm male voice filled the line.
"Miss Okoye."
Leila froze.
She recognized the voice immediately.
Adrian.
"Mr. Kincaid."
"I hope I'm not calling too early."
Leila stood up so quickly her chair scraped across the floor.
"No. You're fine."
A small pause followed.
"I wanted to make sure you received the package."
Her eyes moved to the camera strap.
"I received it."
"Good."
His voice sounded relaxed.
Almost amused.
Leila folded her free arm across her chest.
"You could have just sent an email."
"I had a feeling that might not get your attention."
That answer nearly made her smile.
Nearly.
"And what exactly do you want?"
There was silence for a second.
Then Adrian spoke.
"I'd like to discuss the commission."
"That's all?"
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Finally, he laughed softly.
The sound surprised her.
"No," he admitted.
The honesty caught her off guard.
Leila sat down again.
"Then what else do you want?"
His voice lowered slightly.
Not enough to be flirtatious.
Just enough to feel personal.
"I want to know the woman behind the camera."
Leila stared at the wall.
Dangerous.
That was the word that came to mind.
Not because Adrian was threatening.
Because he was careful.
Patient.
The kind of man who didn't rush.
The kind who waited until people lowered their guard.
She knew she should end the call.
Instead, she found herself listening.
Outside her window, the city carried on as usual.
Cars moved through traffic.
People hurried to work.
Life continued.
But somehow, with Adrian's voice in her ear, everything felt different.
And Leila wasn't sure if that was a good thing.
- Writer
