Page 43 of Kisses and Paperclips

“You’re right,” I said, tilting my head, letting my eyes sweep over her in a slow, deliberate study. “Maybe I’m not qualified, but it looks like me sitting in this CEO spot is something you want bad. And I love a good negotiation.”

Her brows knitted together, confusion and suspicion flickering in her eyes. “Negotiation? What are you up to?”

“If I step down from being CEO, what would I get in exchange?”

Her breath caught, and for a split second, the room felt charged, the air between us crackling like static. She wanted to pull away; I could see it in the way her fingers twitched, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. The pull between us was too strong.

Leaning in just enough to feel the heat of her skin, I let my voice drop to a whisper. “Next time, lock the door. Unless you want another audience.”

I stepped back, giving her space, but not without letting my eyes linger on her one last time. The flush in her cheeks. The way her lips pressed together like she was holding back words she didn’t trust herself to say. The tension in her body, coiled tight as a spring.

I was just about to head out of her office when the edge of my hand brushed against a folder.

It’s half-open, papers spilling out like they’ve been rifled through in a hurry. Normally, I wouldn’t care. But a name printed in bold at the top catches my eye: Echelon Ventures, LLC.

Why was that company name so familiar?

I pause, frowning. I glance down at the folder’s contents—columns of numbers, account balances, and transactions. My eyes zone in on a number, $200,000 listed under “consulting fees,” which makes my stomach tighten. It’s vague—too vague.

“What’s this?” I asked, picking up the folder.

Serena’s head snaps up, her eyes narrowing in that way that told me she’s caught off guard. “Company projections,” she said quickly, reaching for it. “Just something I’m reviewing.”

I don’t let go right away, holding her gaze instead. She’s good—too good. The smile on her lips is practiced, smooth as silk, but the way her fingers twitch against the desk gives her away.

“Projections?” I flip one of the pages back, trying quickly to scan it.

“Julien,” she said, flipping it shut, her voice calm but carrying an edge. It’s nothing. A few accounts I handle personally. Nothing for you to worry about.” She grabs hold of the folder.

I let the folder go, watching as she slid it to the far end of her desk. “I handle it personally” doesn’t sit right. Why handle it so personally when she has a revenue guy in office?

Her gaze flickers back to mine, unreadable now, but the tension in her shoulders hasn’t eased. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s nervous.

“You’ve got a lot of questions for someone who wasn’t supposed to be here.” she said, her tone teasing but her smiled not reaching her eyes.

“Just trying to get up to speed,” I replied, keeping my tone light, even though my thoughts are anything but. “I wouldn’t want to miss anything important.”

“Don’t worry,” she said smoothly, leaning back in her chair like the conversation’s over. “I’ve got it all under control.”

I nod, pushing away from the desk, but the folder—and the unease it stirs in me—sticks in my mind. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Serena Harris, it’s that she doesn’t leave loose ends. So what the hell is she hiding?

As I walk out, the image of those numbers sticks with me, the name Echelon Ventures, LLC practically burned into my brain. Something about it feels… wrong. And I plan to find out exactly why.

???

The moment I left Serena’s office, I couldn’t shake the name.

Echelon Ventures, LLC.

It clung to me like a whisper I wasn’t supposed to hear. It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t flashy. But it was there… in bold, black ink at the top of her ledger, right before she shut that folder like she knew I’d seen too much.

Back in my office, I pulled up the name, hoping for answers.

Instead, I got the digital equivalent of a shrug.

No website. No board of directors. No elevator pitch in bold font. Just a barren page with vague promises—“Innovative investments.” “Strategic growth partnerships.” No names. No faces. Just a PO Box and a burner email.

That was my first red flag.

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