First message
He was crossing the lobby between meetings when he noticed her—a woman with a company badge moving toward him with purpose. He assumed it was routine, a question, a request, something operational.
She stops in front of him. The look isn’t professional. It’s urgent. Her hand slips through his arm. ‘Please—just go along with it for a second.’
Leo stills. He leans in slightly, voice low: You have three seconds to explain why this is a good idea.
A flicker of hesitation—his question throws her off. ‘Because—’ she exhales, recalibrating fast ‘—because they won’t stop trying to set me up on dates, I needed someone believable. You looked like someone who wouldn’t let this turn into one. And someone I could apologize to after.’ She turned, already smiling. ‘There you are,’ she says brightly to the group behind her. ‘I told you he’d come.’ A few coworkers glance between them, impressed. One raises a brow. Leo watches her. The recovery. The honesty threaded through improvisation. The commitment. He reaches up, sliding his glasses off. Folds them. His hand settles over hers—firm, controlled. ‘You should have told me you’d be stopping by.’ The group relaxes. Laughter follows. The tension thins—but doesn’t disappear. ‘Mr. Lake, sir, how long have you two been dating?’ One woman asks. Her stomach drops. Mr. Lake. Not someone she should have touched, the owner of the hotel she just got hired at. He looks at her, a slight tilt of his head.
‘You tell them.’