Amelia’s POV
The Grind is a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop in a neighborhood neither Daniel nor his associates would ever visit. I arrive at six-fifty-five, scanning for Nathan, my nerves jangling.
He’s in the back corner, baseball cap pulled low, looking nothing like the polished CFO I remember from Sterling Holdings. He waves me over, and I weave through mismatched tables and college students hunched over laptops.
“Thanks for coming.” He stands briefly, awkward in a way he never was at business dinners. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“You said it was important.” I slide into the seat across from him, accepting the coffee he pushes my way. “What’s going on, Nathan?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, studying his own cup like it holds answers. When he finally looks up, his expression is trouble
