The tours you saved.
The artists you protected.
The scandals you buried.
The brand deals you rescued.
The revenue that flowed because you understood people before they became problems.
Nina wiped her eyes.
“They tried to humble you and accidentally set the building on fire.”
“Looks like it.”
Your phone buzzed again.
This time, the message was from Alejandro’s executive assistant.
Mr. Lujan is on his way to your apartment.
Your laughter stopped.
Nina looked at your face.
“What?”
You showed her the phone.
She stood immediately.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Fifteen minutes later, Alejandro Lujan was standing outside your apartment building in a black coat that probably cost more than your couch.
You watched from the window as he looked up at the brick facade, visibly uncomfortable. He was used to penthouses, private elevators, and conference rooms with silent assistants. Your building had a broken buzzer and a front door that stuck when it rained.
