ELENA: I’d say between ARS-5 and ARS-6. Visibly anxious, needed a lot of reassurance, and had questions answered.
Well, that certainly changed my approach.
Thank you, Elena. Have a good night.
ELENA: You’re very welcome, Owen. We’ll see you tomorrow for the follow-up.
“We have a slight change of plans,” I said out loud as I returned my phone to its storage spot by the door. Wandering into the wide open living room, I continued, “The client is nervous.”
“They always are,” Ares replied from his spot, leaning back against one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city lights framed him in a warm golden glow that softened him around the edges. His dark hair hung loose around his shoulders with stray strands falling across his forehead. A short beard traced his jaw while dark ink jutted down the thick muscle of his neck and disappeared under the collar of his shirt. Deep blue eyes tracked my movements, unhurried and assessing.
“Elena puts him between a five and six,” I told him. That earned me a slow nod.
“Okay.”
“I’d like to meet him first and get a feel for him. I’ll bring him in here when we’re ready for you.”
“Whatever you think is best, old man,” Ares said with a grin. I ignored the jab, though it earned him a faint smile.
Ares had been calling meold mansince the day we met six years ago, when he was brought into the Society as a dancer. He was all instinct and no discipline, meaning it had been my job to whip him into proper performance shape. He was young and rough around the edges, all charisma and no understanding of how to move or manipulate the attention he naturally drew.
We worked well together. Better than most. Ares operated on pure instinct while I relied on precision. There was a balance in the middle of that. It was an unspoken understanding that made our coordination effortless, even when everything else about the situation wasn’t.
That same ease had bled into something else over time. It was nothing complicated or defined. It was just convenient and familiar, nights where proximity blurred into something more without consequence. We didn’t need more than that, and neither of us wanted more out of each other.
“Just behave,” I replied, as if I needed to tell him. He’d take my lead at every turn without question.
Leaving Ares, I made my way to the foyer of the penthouse and stood alone while I waited for the elevator to make its way to the thirtieth floor. The city lights fractured through the glass and danced along the dark walls as the only source of light. The ambiance was more important than visibility. It was why soft piano music filled the penthouse.
As I waited, I ran through what I knew about him in my head once more.
Liam Wyatt Baker. Thirty-one years old and was born in a small town in Central Illinois. He’d moved to the Pacific Northwest years ago at the request of his now ex-wife.
He was the personal assistant to finance mogul Allen Jennings. The man demanded too much and paid him far too little. I had strong feelings about Jennings’s treatment of him.
He was divorced from his high school sweetheart. The woman wanted him to give more than he could reasonably give to anyone and then give some more. She wanted him to work to provide all the expensive things she demanded while simultaneously being home for her whenever she needed him. He deserved better than her.
He didn’t date often because he didn’t have the time for it. He was on dating apps, but every woman he talked to was quick to point out his work schedule, while every man he talked to was more interested in something fast and dirty.
He liked instrumental music, reading in bed late at night, and watching trashy reality shows. His favorite color was teal, and he never ate breakfast like he should have. He clearly struggled with anxiety but did nothing to take care of it. Running himself into the ground was the foundation of his lifestyle.
The man was easily used and manipulated by those around him. The more I dug into his life, the more readily I understood how he could have such a simplistic fantasy. To be wanted.
Liam deserved more than to feel wanted. He deserved to feel seen and respected. To have space held for him without expectation.
That wasn’t my role here. It wasn’t what I was supposed to give.
And yet, the more I learned about him, the more difficult it became to separate the design from the man himself. The details stopped feeling like information and began to feel personal, like something I was actively invested in rather than just gathering for this scenario.
That kind of investment was a complication. It was one I should have corrected by removing myself from the experience, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Instead, I found myself wondering how I could make sure Liam never felt overlooked again.
The elevator dinged and pulled me from my thoughts. I straightened and stood tall as I made sure I was the very first thing he’d see when the doors opened. The foyer gave us privacy from Ares’s view. It meant I was the first impression Liam would get of tonight’s experience.
The anticipation running through my veins was a foreign and almost thrilling thing as the doors slid open with a quiet whoosh, revealing Liam Baker in the flesh. Dark chestnut hair was tousled just enough to suggest that he’d run his fingers through it on the ride up, and a light beard framed a jaw that clenched with nerves. Those soft green eyes met mine, a little wide with the anxiety surging through him.
I waited for him to exit the elevator and bit back a laugh as he darted forward to avoid being closed inside. He ran his palms over the thighs of his jeans and offered me an apologetic smile.
“Sorry. Are you the Conductor?” he asked as he approached. He held out his hand in a polite and formal gesture. It was exactly what I’d expect of him.
