NINETY DAYS OF WANTING YOU

CHAPTER 5

She packed light. She made a call at 6:15a.m , standing in her closet with yesterday's socks, already a bad sign for how the day would go .

One rolling suitcase. A garment bag. Her laptop, and that second monitor she refused to let go of—Jerome offered to take it separately, but she wouldn’t hand it over. She’d carried that monitor up three flights of stairs herself when she was twenty-six and launched Cole Dynamics out of an apartment that smells like mold and raw possibility. She wasn't going to let any Wolfe related drama be the reason she gave up control or rely on others . At 7 a.m she stood in the kitchen with her coffee, processing things staring at the cactus on the counter . She decided she needed a plant.

That simple thought she needed a plant briefly took over , but she pushed it aside , finished her coffee , and washed the mug out of habit , even with three months away ahead of her .

She dropped the cactus into her tote with her charger, grabbed her suitcase, and walked out .

The Renaissance Center was seven minutes away when the roads were clear, but the cold , gloomy weather matched her frustration and made everything feel harder .She tightened her coat and adjusted the suitcase, quietly convincing herself she could handle this .

It really was fine. Ninety days was nothing. She’d made it through worse, for much less. Four months in a studio apartment with a college roommate’s snake named Gerald? Survived that with all limbs attached. This was a penthouse. With a guest room, even.

The penthouse was massively big and she felt a chill at her spine instantly. The concierge, Marcus, bounced his gaze to her luggage but kept any comments to himself. He rode up silently with her to the fifty-first floor. She liked him immediately.

The elevator opened directly into the penthouse entrance.

She stepped inside and just stood there for a second, caught off guard. She’d expected something severe—expensive woods, the stiff sort of furniture that silently screams “net worth”—but the place was minimalist. High ceilings. Floor-to-ceiling windows facing south, the Detroit River unfolding beneath her, Windsor twinkling faintly across the water, gray morning or not. The kitchen looked barely touched. There was one bookshelf, actual books with spines and coffee stains. It surprised her. She’d pictured someone all-digital, too sleek for paperbacks.

She drifted closer. Architecture books. Contract law. Three novels she’d read herself. One she didn’t know, spine cracked, clear evidence it wasn’t just for show.

She tucked that detail away.

Marcus showed her the guest room—at the end of a real hallway, fully separate, private bathroom, its own thermostat. Already set to sixty-eight degrees, just like her own place. She stood in the doorway and looked at that thermostat and felt something uncomfortable. Not quite warm. She felt a bit uncomfortable, like someone knows her too well .

She started unboxing and arranging her belongings

There. Claimed.

She was informed that Wolfe wouldn’t be available until later. She politely responded and then moved to a quiet spot to think. She paused to process everything and collect her thoughts.

Nothing around her helped her figure out what to do.

At nine forty-three, she was on the phone with Jerome, standing at the kitchen island—couldn’t bring herself to sit on someone else’s furniture yet. Her phone buzzed. She stayed focused; Jerome was running through the Phase Two schedule, she could keep three dates in mind, but only if—

Two more buzzes.

She gave in after the fourth.

“Hang on,” she told Jerome.

She checked her screen: Four texts in ninety seconds, all from her assistant, Camille, who had a habit of sending rapid-fire, single-sentence messages like she was getting charged for every character.

Camille · 9:43 AM

have you seen Detroit Business Chronicle

Camille · 9:43 AM

online. right now.

Camille · 9:44 AM

it's already on the AP wire

Camille · 9:44 AM

Mara. MARA.

She put Jerome on hold and opened the Chronicle.

Published 9:31 AM · January 14, 2026

Corporate Power Couple or Hostile Merger? Wolfe Heir and Cole Dynamics CEO Confirm Joint Residence Amid $340M Transit Deal

Sources close to both parties confirm that Elias Wolfe, 33, heir to Wolfe Industries, and Mara Cole, 28, CEO and COO of Cole Dynamics, have entered into a formal personal arrangement concurrent with their ongoing business partnership. The nature and terms of the arrangement — including, sources say, a shared residence in the Renaissance Center — raise questions about the independence of Cole Dynamics' board oversight at a critical juncture in the city's largest infrastructure initiative in a decade...

She read the whole thing. Then she read it again, looking for cracks, not just for impact.

The contract had gone live forty hours ago. She hadn’t told a soul. Elias hadn’t either—she was sure, or as sure as you could be about someone you’d met eleven days ago. Only two signed copies existed: one with her

Someone had talked.

She pulled Jerome off hold.

"I need to know who knew," she said. Not hello, not context, because Jerome would already be pulling up the Chronicle on his own screen. "Not his side. Ours."

A pause.

"Mara," Jerome said. "Nobody on our side knew."

"Someone did."

She was receiving unexpected calls from unknown sources. Then another. Then her PR director. She watched the situation unfold, aware something was wrong but not being able to look away .

Across town, her phone buzzed again this time it was Elias .

It was Elias.

One text. Characteristically short.

Elias Wolfe · 9:47 AM

I need you at the building in thirty minutes. Don't answer anything until we've talked.

She stared at that for a moment.

Don't answer anything. Like she needed to be told.

She typed back:

You · 9:48 AM

I'm already in your building. I live here now, remember?

She hit send. Then she picked up her coffee, which had gone cold, and drank it anyway, and looked out at the river, and thought about the contract's page count and the number of people who had theoretically touched it and how many of those people had reasons she hadn't yet considered.

Someone had leaked this before she had even unpacked.

And whoever it was had known the terms — not just that she was moving in, but the specific language of Section 4.2, the shared residence clause, the transit deal connection. They hadn't guessed. They hadn't inferred.

They'd read it.