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Lola comes to see me that afternoon.

She doesn't knock. Lola hasn't knocked on my door since the second year, when we'd established a working relationship that functioned less like employer-employee and more like two people running a country who'd agreed to tolerate each other's methods. She walks in, sits down across from my desk, crosses her legs, and looks at me with the expression of a woman who has been patient for as long as she intends to be.

"Danny."

"Lola."

"I've spoken to Anna."

I wait.

"She's scared. Not of you — of the situation. Of what happens if it goes wrong. She has a mother who's dying and a debt she can barely manage and this job is the only thing between her and a disaster she can't afford." She uncrosses her legs. Crosses them the other way. "I know you fucking know all of that Danny, because you have ways of extracting information from sources I definitely don’t want to know about. You're sitting in her section every night looking at her like she's the answer to a question you didn't know you were asking, and every person in this building can see it, and she knows they can see it, and that's terrifying for a woman whose livelihood depends on being taken seriously."

"I take her seriously."

"I know you do! But perception matters. The members see you at that table. The staff sees you at that table. And the story people are telling isn't 'Danny Sterling respects a hardworking young woman.' The story is 'the boss is fucking in the hot new waitress.' You know the difference."

I do. The difference sits in my chest like something sharp.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask slowly.

"I want you to think about what you're offering her. Not what you're feeling — what you're offering. Because right now, from where she stands, the offer is unclear. Are you a man who's interested in a relationship, or a man who's enjoying the novelty of wanting something new and shiny? Because if it's the second one, Danny, I need you to stop. Tonight. Before she falls any further."

"It's not the second one."

"Then what is it?"

I look at Lola. This woman who's run my building, managed my staff, tolerated my worst impulses and quietly corrected my worst decisions for four years. Who knows me better than Jagger, better than Caleb, better than anyone except possibly the woman who has been working here for nine days, and has somehow seen through every wall I've spent a lifetime building.

"I don't know what it is," I say, sighing. I push my hand through my hair to compose myself. "I've never had it before. I don't have a word for it and I'm not going to invent one to make you comfortable."

Her eyebrows go up.

"But I know what it isn't. It isn't fucking temporary. It isn't a novelty. And it isn't going to stop because the optics are complicated. Anna is mine, whether she knows it or not."

Lola studies me for a long time. Long enough that I start to feel the weight of her gaze like something physical. This is a woman measuring a man against the claim he's just made.

"The Gala is Saturday," she says finally. "Anna's on event coordination. She'll be in a dress, she'll be very visible, and every member in that room will be watching to see what you do."

"I know."

"So figure out what you're doing. Before Saturday." She stands. "Because if you hurt that girl, Danny, I will make your life very difficult. And you know I can."

"You’re really good at making my life difficult, Lola." I chuckle.

"Good." She walks to the door. "You look different, by the way.”

She's gone before I can respond.

I feel different.

“I think I might finally be happy.” I say to the empty room.

It’s Wednesday night and the floor is busy. November brings in the regulars, the pre-holiday crowd and men closing deals before the year ends.

I'm upstairs.

In my office.