Ryan woke up smiling before he was fully conscious, which was a new experience.
He lay there a mont without checking his phone like he imdiately did usually, not moving, just letting the morning sit. The rain from last night had stopped at so point while he was sleeping. The city outside was doing its regular thing. Sowhere down the hall a door closed.
He picked up his phone.
> RETURN PROCESSED
> Previous Balance: $27,456.33
> Expenditure: $9,500 (Date — Seduction spending)
> Return: 2x
> Amount returned: $19,000
> New Balance: $46,456.33
He read it twice.
Nineteen thousand dollars for a shopping trip and an alley in the rain.
He thought about Zara straightening his lapel without stepping back. The rain in her hair. The cheek kiss that landed just close enough to an sothing.
Nineteen thousand was underselling it honestly.
He got up and went through his morning routine with the unhurried energy of soone whose day had already started well before it technically started. Shower, the good coffee, eggs. He was mid-brush when his phone buzzed on the bathroom shelf.
He glanced at it.
> STATS UPDATE
> REPUTATION: 20 → 30
> POWER: 3 → 4
> Source: Public visibility event — blog publication
Ryan rinsed, spat, picked up the phone properly.
’Blog publication.’
He opened Instagram.
It took about four seconds to find it — already circulating, already comnted on, the algorithm apparently deciding this was worth pushing. A photo, slightly blurred from motion, of two people running on Madison Avenue in the rain. A woman pulling a man by the hand, both mid-stride, the man’s face angled away from the cara.
The caption read: "Supermodel Zara and possible boyfriend seen fleeing paparazzi in New York City"
Ryan stared at it.
Zara had been almost exactly right. He’d just hoped it would take longer than twelve hours.
He zood in. His face wasn’t visible — the angle and the motion blur had taken care of that — which probably explained why the reputation bump was modest. Just a hand. His coat. The back of his head.
He scrolled the comnts.
*omg who is he*
*the way she’s pulling him ^^ she’s so in love already*
*I’m going insane who is this man*
*It’s definitely [na] — look at the coat*
*no it’s [different na] — look at the height*
*she looks happy though? Good for her honestly*
Several nas had been suggested across the comnts, all of them athletes, musicians, or actors with combined net worths that made Ryan’s current $46,000 look like what it was. The theories were detailed. Soone had done a forensic analysis of his coat sleeve.
If only they knew it was a guy from the Bronx who’d been doing math on groceries three weeks ago.
Ryan put the phone down and finished getting dressed.
---
He was in the kitchen with his second coffee when the doorbell rang.
He opened the door to Sophie.
She was holding a canvas bag over one shoulder, a folder under her arm, and two coffees in a cardboard carrier, managing all of it with the practiced efficiency of soone who had restructured her entire professional life in the last two weeks and hadn’t slowed down since.
She was in dark jeans and a cream top, hair up, already in work mode in a way that made Ryan feel slightly under-prepared for his own morning.
She held out one of the coffees.
"Morning, boss."
"Morning Sophie." He took it. Stepped aside.
She ca in and moved to the kitchen table — their unofficial office for the ti being — unloading the bag, opening the folder, pulling out her laptop with the sequential efficiency of soone setting up a command center. Her phone buzzed and she answered a text with one thumb while opening a docunt with the other hand.
Ryan sat on the stool at the kitchen counter and watched this for a mont.
"You seem overly busy these days," he said.
"Yeah, because I am." She didn’t look up from the phone. "A lot to do. Luckily I get paid well enough for it."
Ryan raised his coffee cup in her direction. "Cheers to that."
She put the phone down and opened the folder. "Okay. Company side — we’re mostly done with the formation process. The last filing cleared two days ago, I was going to tell you but you were—" she paused, "—otherwise occupied."
"I was working," Ryan said.
"Sure." She found the page she wanted. "I’m almost finished with the firm that’ll handle your legal. Comrcial law, contracts, employnt disputes — good firm, not the most expensive in the city, but they co with recomndations from people I trust. Should have the retainer agreent to you by end of week."
"Good."
"I’ve also been running initial interviews for an accountant. You need soone handling the numbers and taxes properly before this gets bigger. Seen four applicants so far, two of them are genuinely strong. I’ll have soone in the role by next week."
Ryan set his coffee down, got off the stool, and ca around the counter toward the table. He took Sophie’s hand gently and pulled her back from the table, turning her to sit on his lap, her settling naturally between his legs as he leaned back against the counter stool.
"You’re working incredibly hard," he said.
Sophie leaned back slightly against him, the folder still in her hand with the residual montum of soone whose brain hadn’t fully switched modes yet. "That’s the job."
"I might need to give you a raise."
"You might," she agreed.
Then she picked up her phone and opened Instagram, scrolled for about four seconds with the precision of soone who knew exactly where they were going, and turned the screen to face him.
The photo. Sa caption and comnts.
Ryan looked at it. Looked at her.
"Is this you, Ryan."
"Perchance."
Sophie turned to look at him directly. "You can’t just say perchance."
"Okay. Yes. That’s ."
She looked at the photo again, then back at him. "So Mike wasn’t completely insane. He said in the group chat that he saw you with the hottest girl he’d ever seen in real life and that he was pretty sure he’d seen her on the internet before."
"It sounds to ," Ryan said, "like Mike needs to urgently learn to shut the fuck up."
"A supermodel, Ryan." She said it with the specific tone of soone updating their ntal file on a person. "You are genuinely full of surprises."
His right hand had found her waist at so point, settled there without announcent. His other hand rested on her thigh.
"Are you jealous?" he asked.
Sophie considered this with the thoughtful expression of soone actually consulting their feelings rather than performing an answer.
"A little bit," she said. Honest about it, which was very Sophie. "She might be slightly prettier."
"Might be," Ryan said.
Sophie turned to look at him, and the smile she gave him was slow and deliberate and had a specific quality to it — the devious one, the one that knew sothing.
"But I know there’s one thing she doesn’t do better."
Ryan looked at her.
"And what’s that?"
Sophie’s smile stayed exactly where it was.
She didn’t answer.
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