The next morning came too quickly.
Denisse had barely slept. The sterile scent of the hospital still clung faintly to her clothes, to her hair, as if the night refused to let go of her. Zoe's strained breaths, the hushed urgency of nurses, the quiet relief when the baby finally cried—it all replayed in fragments behind her eyes while she sat in front of her laptop.
Still, work did not wait.
She straightened in her chair and forced herself to focus. The glow of the screen reflected in her tired eyes as she reviewed the proposal one last time. Numbers, projections, timelines. Everything had to be precise. There was no room for error, not with a client like Blue Moon Hotel.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before she finally exhaled and shut the laptop.
Ready.
Or at least, ready enough.
She stood, smoothed down the front of her blouse, and walked to Lesley's room. The hallway was quiet, almost too quiet, like the world hadn't fully woken up yet. She knocked lightly.
There was a brief pause.
Then the door opened just enough for Lesley's face to appear, composed as always, though the faint shadows beneath her eyes betrayed the same lack of rest.
"Everything's ready, shall we?" Denisse said, her voice steady despite the heaviness in her chest.
Lesley glanced back toward her monitor, then nodded once. "Yes. I don't want Mr. Phillips to wait for us."
Of course. Timing. Precision. Control.
Denisse gave a small nod in return.
They gathered their things in silence, moving with the quiet efficiency of people too used to working under pressure. Moments later, they were in the lobby, the early morning light filtering through the glass walls, pale and soft.
Outside, the air was crisp.
Denisse unlocked the car and, out of habit, walked around to open the back door for Lesley.
But Lesley didn't take it.
Instead, she moved past her, opened the passenger door, and slipped into the seat beside the driver's side without a word.
Denisse paused for half a second, her hand still resting on the back door handle.
Then she let out a small breath and shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
Of course.
She closed the door and made her way to the driver's seat.
The engine hummed to life, and they pulled away.
The drive was quiet. Not uncomfortable, but filled with a kind of shared fatigue that didn't need to be spoken aloud. The city moved around them in slow, steady motion—traffic lights changing, pedestrians crossing, the low murmur of a waking morning.
Denisse kept her eyes on the road, but she was aware of Lesley beside her. The way she sat upright despite clearly being exhausted. The way her fingers occasionally tapped lightly against her thigh, as if organizing thoughts that never quite stopped moving.
Less than twenty minutes later, they arrived.
The restaurant was discreet, tucked behind polished glass and muted signage. Inside, everything felt curated—soft lighting, the faint clink of cutlery, the low murmur of distant conversations. Someone led them to a private room.
The door closed behind them with a quiet click.
Silence settled.
Denisse placed the laptop on the table and opened it, the familiar routine grounding her. Lesley took her seat across from where their guest would sit, posture straight, expression already slipping into that composed, unreadable calm she wore in meetings.
Minutes passed.
Five.
Ten.
Denisse's eyes flicked briefly to the time on the corner of her screen. Then again.
It was past the agreed meeting time.
She glanced at Lesley. "Should I call him?"
Lesley didn't look at her immediately. She seemed to be staring at nothing in particular, though Denisse knew better. She was calculating. Adjusting.
Then she nodded. "Yes, please."
Denisse reached for her phone, scrolling to the secretary's number. Her thumb hovered over the call button—
The door burst open.
Both of them flinched, the sudden sound slicing through the quiet.
Denisse's head snapped up.
And then she froze.
Daphne.
"Hi, sorry I'm late," Daphne said, stepping inside as if she belonged there, as if the disruption were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, her breath just slightly uneven, though her smile remained easy. "I had to make sure I'm updated with everything before coming here."
Lesley's expression didn't change immediately. But something in her eyes sharpened.
"Daphne," she said slowly. "Why are you here?"
There was a beat.
Then Daphne smiled wider, almost amused.
"Why?" she said, moving toward the table. "Because I'm now in charge of this project. I specifically requested it from my dad."
Denisse blinked.
Dad?
Her gaze flicked between them.
Mr. Phillips.
Daphne's… father?
The realization settled heavily, like something dropping into place far too late.
If they closed this deal…
She would be working with Daphne.
Working with her. Watching her look at Lesley like—
Denisse swallowed.
"Mr. Phillips never mentioned this before, had he, Denisse?" Lesley said, her voice calm, but now directed toward her.
Denisse straightened slightly. "No, Ms. Ashford. They didn't inform us of the final changes."
Daphne let out a soft laugh as she pulled out her chair and sat down. "You do know me well, Les. If I really want something, I make sure I get it."
Lesley's gaze didn't waver. "But this is business, Daphne. This is not a game."
There was a subtle shift in the air.
Something tighter. More personal.
Daphne leaned back in her chair, studying Lesley with an expression that was almost… fond. Or maybe something sharper than that.
"I know," she said. "Do you think I just took over because I wanted to play games with you?"
A pause.
Then, lightly, with a hint of something teasing beneath the words, "Well… if you want to, we can."
Denisse felt it.
That tone.
That familiarity.
It made something twist uncomfortably in her chest.
Lesley's jaw tightened, just barely. "Let's just start, so this can be done early."
"Sure," Daphne said easily.
Denisse forced herself to focus.
She began the presentation, her voice steady, professional. Slides moved forward, numbers laid out clearly, projections explained with careful precision. Lesley chimed in when needed, adding clarity, reinforcing key points.
But Denisse couldn't ignore it.
Every time she glanced up—
Daphne wasn't looking at the screen.
She was looking at Lesley.
Not casually. Not occasionally.
Consistently.
As if the presentation were background noise.
As if the real point of interest sat across the table, speaking in calm, controlled tones.
Denisse's fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the laptop.
Daphne's secretary, seated beside her, was the one asking questions. Practical ones. Necessary ones. The kind that should have been coming from the person in charge.
But Daphne?
She barely spared the slides a glance.
Her attention lingered elsewhere.
And Denisse felt it again—that quiet, unwelcome pressure in her chest.
Something she didn't want to name.
After a few more minutes of discussion, Daphne finally seemed to reach a decision.
"That sounds promising," she said, a faint smile playing on her lips. "I like it. I'm sure Dad will too. We'll update you on Monday with our final decision."
"Alright," Lesley replied coolly. "If there's nothing else to discuss, we'll be leaving."
Daphne's smile sharpened into a smirk as she rose from her seat.
"You're that eager to get away from me, Les?" she teased. "Don't worry—we'll be seeing a lot more of each other soon."
Lesley didn't bother to respond. Her silence was answer enough.
"Let's go, Denisse," she said, already turning toward the door.
Without another glance back, they walked out, leaving Daphne standing there with that same knowing smile lingering on her face.