CHAPTER FIVE
834 Words
The Rules
She lasted exactly four days before she broke her own rule about not going through other people's things.
To be clear she didn't go through anything. She wasn't a snoop. She was an observer, which was different, and the thing she observed was sitting completely in the open on the kitchen counter at 6:52 AM: a single photograph, face up, that hadn't been there the night before.
She almost walked past it.
She didn't.
It was old film quality, slightly faded at the edges. Two people on a boat, somewhere coastal and sun-drenched. A younger Zaire, maybe twenty two, laughing at something off camera in a way that made him look like an entirely different person. The woman beside him was beautiful in the effortless way of someone who'd never once doubted it. Dark hair, wide smile, her hand on his arm with the easy ownership of someone certain of their welcome.
Elara set down her coffee cup.
She picked up the photo.
She was still holding it when Zaire walked in.
He stopped in the doorway. His face did the thing she'd learned to watch for that brief, fractional rearrangement before the neutral mask settled back into place. But for just a moment, looking at the photograph in her hands, he looked like someone had hit him somewhere it still hadn't healed.
"Sorry," she said immediately, setting it down. "It was on the counter. I wasn't, I didn't mean to..."
"It's fine." He crossed to the counter and picked it up without looking at her. His movements were unhurried and deliberate in the way she recognized as control, not calm. He opened the drawer beside the sink and placed the photograph inside, face down.
"Old photo," he said. "I was clearing out the study."
She nodded and did not ask.
She wanted to ask.
She poured her coffee instead and told herself that curiosity was not the same as caring, and caring was not something she was going to do about Zaire Valecrest, and the look on his face just now was absolutely none of her business.
"We have the engagement announcement call with your PR team today," he said from behind her. "Eleven AM."
"I'll be ready." She was about to leave.
"They'll want coordinated social media. Posts tonight, possibly tomorrow morning." He said, making her sit back down.
"I've done press before."
"Not like this." A pause. "They're going to ask how we met. We should align on the story."
She turned around. He was leaning against the opposite counter with his arms crossed, watching her with that careful assessing look she was starting to recognize as the closest he got to curiosity.
"How did we meet?" she asked.
"Industry event. Two years ago. The Harlow Foundation Gala."
She blinked. "We were both at that gala."
"I know."
She thought back. October, two years ago. She'd spent most of the evening talking to buyers and dodging a particularly persistent venture capitalist. She had a vague memory of the room, the champagne, the crowd.
"I don't remember seeing you there," she said.
"You were wearing green," he said simply.
"You argued with the caterer about the canapé selection and won. You gave your dessert to a junior editor from Elle who looked hungry."
Elara stared at him.
"I have a good memory," he said.
"Apparently." She turned back to her coffee, her heart doing something she told it firmly to stop. "So we met at the gala. Reconnected recently. And kept it quiet."
"Simple is more believable." He gave a slight nod.
"Agreed." She wrapped both hands around her mug.
Her phone buzzed on the counter. Theron. How's the penthouse? Is he human or just a very expensive robot?
She typed back: Still determining. The coffee machine suggests robot.
His reply came instantly. Ha. Call me later. I found something on the acquisition group might be nothing but wanted to flag it.
She looked at the message for a moment. Theron had been digging quietly for days, the way he approached every problem she brought him. She was grateful for it the way she was always grateful for Theron, his steadiness, his warmth, his reliable presence at the edge of every crisis she'd ever navigated.
"Everything alright?" Zaire asked.
"Theron." She set the phone face down. "He's been trying to trace the acquisition group independently. He thinks he found something."
Something shifted in Zaire's expression; subtle, careful. The stillness of a man filing information away.
"What kind of something?" he asked.
"He doesn't know yet. Might be nothing." She picked up her coffee. "He's protective. Has been since the beginning."
"Good people usually are," Zaire said.
She looked at him. He looked back, expression neutral, giving away nothing.
She turned away.
"Eleven AM," she said. "I'll be ready."
She took her coffee to her suite and didn't think about the way he'd said 'good people usually are' flat and even and entirely unreadable.
She didn't think about it at all.
- Writer
