Kiss Me Tomorrow

Lena's POV. The first thing I learned about Adrian Vale was that he didn't need to raise his voice to make people nervous. The second was that he had a reputation for making perfectly competent adults forget how to speak. I intended to be the exception. I stood outside the glass doors of his office, checked the time on my phone, and took one slow breath. 9:02 a.m. I was two minutes late. Not because I was disorganized. Because the elevator had stopped on every floor between the lobby and the twenty-third floor, apparently determined to test my patience before I met the most difficult client I'd ever been assigned. I straightened my blazer, tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and walked inside. "Ms. Hart?" A woman behind the reception desk stood immediately. "Yes." "I'm Claire. Mr. Vale is expecting you." Expecting. Not waiting. There was something about that word that made me straighten my shoulders. "Of course." Claire gave me a polite smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Then she glanced at the folder tucked beneath my arm. "Good luck." I stopped. "Excuse me?" Her smile became innocent. "I said, good morning." "No, you didn't." A tiny pause. Then she smiled again. "Good morning, Ms. Hart." I stared at her for a second before continuing toward the private elevator. Apparently, Adrian Vale's reputation had already infected the building. Wonderful. I had spent six years learning how to walk into rooms where people were angry, defensive, embarrassed, or desperate and convince them that I was there to help. Politicians. Celebrities. CEOs. One particularly unpleasant hotel heir who had accidentally proposed to his mistress during a live interview. I had handled all of them. Adrian Vale was just another client. A wealthy one. A powerful one. An inconveniently attractive one. But still a client. The elevator doors opened. I stepped inside. Twenty-three. As the numbers climbed, I looked at my reflection in the mirrored wall. Dark hair pulled into a neat low bun. Minimal makeup. Black blazer. Cream blouse. No nervous habits. No hesitation. Exactly the woman my firm had sent to handle a crisis worth millions. I was good at this. I was very good at this. And Adrian Vale was going to learn that before the end of the morning. The elevator opened directly into the executive floor. A man was waiting. Tall. Dark suit. No tie. Phone in one hand. He looked at me once. Then again. "Ms. Hart." His voice was lower than I expected. "Mr. Vale." His eyes moved briefly to the folder in my hand. "You're late." I glanced at the clock on the wall. 9:03. "I was delayed by the elevator." "It works." "So do I." For the first time, something changed in his expression. Not quite a smile. Almost. "Good." He turned and walked away. I followed. That was it? No handshake? No introduction? No attempt to make me feel welcome? I made a mental note. Difficult. His office was enormous without trying to look enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city. Dark wood. Clean lines. No unnecessary decorations. There were no family photographs. No awards. No sentimental objects. Just a desk, two chairs, a sofa near the windows, and a wall covered in architectural sketches. I looked at one for half a second before Adrian spoke. "Sit." I looked at him. "You know, most people say please." "Most people don't have six months to save a company." There it was. The reason I was here. I sat. He took the chair opposite me. For a moment, neither of us spoke. I'd researched him before coming. Everyone in my position would have. Adrian Vale. Twenty-eight. Executive director of Vale Industries. Son of Richard and Evelyn Vale. Harvard graduate. Youngest executive ever appointed to the family board. Known for avoiding interviews. Known for being brutally private. And, according to the media, known for being arrogant, emotionally unavailable, and possibly responsible for a business scandal that had already wiped nearly eight percent off Vale Industries' market value. The headlines had been merciless. VALE HEIR ACCUSED OF HIDING FINANCIAL IRREGULARITIES. ADRIAN VALE'S SILENCE SPEAKS LOUDER THAN HIS DENIAL. IS THE VALE EMPIRE FINALLY CRUMBLING? My job was simple. Change the narrative. "Your public image is a disaster," I said. His eyebrow lifted. I opened my folder. "But that's fixable." "You're very direct." "It's one of the reasons your company hired me." "Did they?" I paused. "What?" "The company." He leaned back. "You keep saying they hired you." "They did." "My board requested your firm." "Exactly." "Not me." I closed the folder. "You don't want me here." "No." "Then why am I sitting in your office?" "Because I agreed to let you try." I stared at him. "How generous." His mouth twitched. I wasn't sure if he was amused or irritated. Possibly both. I pulled out several pages. "Here's what we're going to do. First, we stop reacting to every article. Second, you give one controlled interview. Third, we increase your visibility through charitable and community projects. Fourth, we release financial information strategically instead of allowing journalists to keep filling the gaps themselves." "No." I looked up. "No?" "No interviews." "That's not negotiable." "Then we're going to have a difficult six months." I smiled. "I've had difficult clients before." "I'm sure." "None this difficult." That almost-smile appeared again. Then disappeared. He reached for a glass of water. "You think you can fix me." "I don't fix people." "What do you do?" "I fix stories." He looked at me for a long moment. "And what if the story is true?" "Then we find the truth before everyone else does." Silence. Something flickered across his face. Not anger. Something closer to recognition. Before I could identify it, he stood. "Come with me." "Where?" "You wanted access to the company." "I wanted documents." "You'll get them." He walked toward the door. I followed, slightly annoyed. "You know, you could have simply said yes." "I could have." "Instead, you made me argue for ten minutes." "I wanted to know if you'd argue." I stopped. He continued walking. I caught up with him. "And?" He looked down at me. "You did." "Was that a test?" "Everything is a test." "That sounds exhausting." "It is." For some reason, that answer stayed with me. We reached another set of glass doors. Beyond them was the main executive floor. Employees moved between offices carrying folders and coffee. Phones rang. Conversations stopped whenever Adrian walked past. Not because they were afraid of him. At least, not all of them. Some looked at him with respect. Others looked away. Adrian noticed everything. He said nothing. We entered a conference room where three executives were waiting. The next hour passed in a blur of numbers, reports, legal documents, and explanations. I asked questions. Adrian answered most of them. When one executive attempted to dismiss a discrepancy in the financial report, Adrian corrected him without hesitation. When another tried to blame the press, Adrian shut him down. "This isn't the media's fault," he said quietly. "It's ours if we gave them something to find." I looked at him differently after that. Maybe there was more to him than the headlines suggested. Maybe. When the meeting ended, the others left. I gathered my documents. Adrian remained seated. "You're taking the case." It wasn't a question. "Yes." "Why?" "Because I'm good at my job." "That's not what I asked." I frowned. "Then what did you ask?" "Why this case?" I almost laughed. "Because it's the biggest assignment I've had." "And if you fail?" "I won't." "You sound very certain." "I don't take jobs I can't handle." His gaze remained fixed on me. Then he said something that made my fingers stop moving. "That's interesting." "What is?" "Your confidence." I waited. He reached beneath the stack of papers on the table. And pulled out a thin black folder. He placed it in front of me. My name was written across the front. LENA HART. My stomach tightened. "What is this?" "Something you should see before you agree to work for me." I didn't touch it. "Is this some kind of background check?" "No." "Then what?" "Open it." I looked at him. He wasn't smiling anymore. Slowly, I opened the folder. The first page contained my full name. My date of birth. My university. My employment history. Nothing unusual. Then I turned the page. My mother's name. My old address. A newspaper clipping from eleven years ago. My breathing stopped. I knew that photograph. I knew that headline. I had spent years trying not to look at it. I lifted my eyes to Adrian. "Where did you get this?" He said nothing. I turned another page. Another photograph. Another article. Then a document I'd never seen before. My hands went cold. "This isn't public." "I know." "Then how did you get it?" Adrian leaned forward, his expression unreadable. And for the first time since I'd walked into his office, I wasn't thinking about his reputation. I wasn't thinking about the company. I wasn't thinking about the contract. I was thinking about the past I'd spent years burying. "Why do you have this?" His eyes held mine. "Because before you walked into this office, Lena, I already knew who you were." My heart gave one hard, painful beat. I swallowed. "You researched me." "No." "Then what?" He was silent for so long that the silence became an answer of its own. Finally, he said, "I knew your name long before I knew your face." I stared at him. And suddenly, the job that had seemed like the biggest opportunity of my career felt like the biggest mistake I'd ever made. Adrian closed the folder. "Before you agree to save my reputation," he said quietly, "you should know something." His gaze never left mine. "I already know yours."