Page 51 of Kisses and Paperclips

Fine, Julien.

You want a tour?

Let’s see how long you last.

Chapter 10

Julien

It was getting late, and Serena had already shut me down about coming over.

She’s good at that, sharp but sweet with her no, like she knew exactly how to keep me hungry without letting me starve. The woman got a PhD in playing hard to get. Luckily, I’m fluent in Patience. Fluent in waiting for the exact moment she’d stop pretending she didn’t want what we both already knew was inevitable.

So, I let her have her space, for now, and slid into a spot that asked fewer questions: a dimly lit bar on the east side. The kind of place where the music was low, the whiskey was strong.

My eyes scanned the room, locking on Kameron in seconds. He was hunched over his glass like it had done something personal to him, the bartender already sliding another pour his way. That was my first red flag. Kameron didn’t do second, especially not when he’s meeting me for work.

“Didn’t expect to find you nursing a bottle,” I said, shrugging off my coat, pulling up a stool beside him.

He looked up, expression blank for half a beat before stretching into something that might’ve passed for a smile.

“Julien. Thought you might ghost me.”

I shook my head, signaling for a whiskey. “I don’t ghost. I just show up late.”

Kameron let out a dry chuckle, but it didn’t land right. Didn’t reach his eyes. “You always were good at making an entrance.”

I studied him more closely. Rumpled shirt, slight slump in his shoulders, fingers tapping the side of his glass like he was stalling. “What’s going on, man? You don’t look like the guy who closed out that hedge fund mess for Franklin & Co. in under twenty-four hours.”

He sighed, swirling the amber liquid in his glass like it might help him find the words. “That favor you asked for? It’s messier than I expected.”

I didn’t respond. Just waited. Kameron hated being rushed, and I’d known him long enough to trust that when he hesitated, it meant he was weighing how much I really needed to know.

Finally, he glanced up at me, jaw tight. “Echelon Ventures isn’t just some investment company.”

I leaned forward, the weight in his voice shifting something in my chest. “Then what kind is it?”

His eyes flicked briefly to the bartender, then back to me. He dropped his voice. “It’s the kind that knows how to stay hidden. Obscured ownership, off-the-books transactions, money funneled through offshore accounts. And that’s just scratching the surface.”

My fingers tightened around the glass in my hand. “So it’s criminal?”

Kameron’s lips pressed into a hard line. “Depends on how you define it. But clean? No. Not even close.”

I let that settle between us, the hum of the bar fading under the weight of his words.

Then he added, almost reluctantly, “There’s something else.”

I didn’t said anything. Just gave him a look that said keep going.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and let out a long breath. “You remember Rachel?”

I blinked. “Rachel? As in Rachel-Rachel? From college?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. “Her.”

I sat back, confused. “What does she have to do with this?”

Kameron reached into the bag at his feet and pulled out a worn leather folder. He flipped it open, slid a photo across the bar, and let his fingers hover over it for a second before pulling back.

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