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“Details are in the folder. Cookies are on the table. Contract comes by courier tonight.” Gerri’s hand rested on the door. “Sign it or don’t — I already know which one you’re picking, so let’s skip the part where you pretend otherwise.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Sweetheart.” Gerri stopped in the doorway, backlit, thoroughly and visibly pleased with herself. “I’m never wrong about this part.”
The door shut behind her. The studio sat there, already different, whether it liked the idea or not.
Jessa waited exactly as long as it took the latch to click.
“Hot rich man?”
“Probably.”
“Say yes.”
“Haven’t said no yet. Basically the same thing. Way more dignified.”
“That’s not what basically means.”
“It’s what it means today.”
Jessa was already at the worktable, grabbing the folder like it might make a run for it. “There’s a whole packet. There’s a logo. Romily. It has a crest.”
“Put it down.”
“Not putting it down. I’m reading it out loud while you have your feelings in private. That’s the system.”
“That’s not a system. That’s you being nosy with extra steps.”
“Same thing. Less dignified.” She flipped it open, scanning the top page like it owed her money. “Sharpe Global. Norden Sharpe — okay, rude, that’s an unfairly good CEO name. This timeline is insane.”
Jessa turned another page, lips moving as she read. “There’s a whole section here called Vision. In italics. Capital V.”
“Every rich company has one of those.”
“This one has a paragraph about legacy.” Jessa looked up. “Legacy, Romily.”
“I’m aware legacy is a word.”
“I’m just saying — if a man’s own company website uses the word legacy without irony, he either has a very good tailor or a family curse. Possibly both.” She flipped another page. “There’s also a whole spread here about ‘giving back to the community.’ With a photo of him volunteering. Except you can’t see his face, because the sun’s behind him at exactly the right angle. Every single photo. It’s like someone hired a lighting designer specifically to keep this man anonymous.”
“That’s not suspicious at all.”
“Deeply normal. Very chill. No notes.” She squinted at the last page, tilted it toward the light. “Also there’s no headshot in here.”
“No photo. No interviews. Nothing.” Romily had already clocked that one. Nobody built a gap that clean by accident. “That’s not an oversight. That’s a wall with a door somebody bricked over.”
“Ominous.”
“Extremely.”
“Should we be scared?”
“A little.”
“Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”
Romily opened the paper bag. The cookies inside were warm enough to fog the paper — of course they were, because Gerri Wilder probably timed her exits down to the exact degree. Romily ate one. Excellent. Annoyingly excellent.
