Page 20 of Ansel

I shook my head. “I just outworked everybody. But Vanessa is a woman, and that’s not easy. I’m not saying I condone what she did because that’s immoral as fuck, but I get it.”

Michael groaned. “If you’ve been brainwashed into thinking this is normal—or even acceptable—then maybe it’s time to find a new profession.”

“I love what I do, Michael.”

He leveled me with a look. “Ask yourself this, Ansel—how do you want to live for the next thirty or forty years? Do you really want to spend every day fighting over bullshit like money and titles? At what point is it enough? When is it going to be enough?”

9

I CAN HANDLE THE TRUTH

ANSEL

Michael’s words wouldn’t leave my head.

How much is enough? When is it going to be enough?

I didn’t have an answer. Maybe because, for as long as I could remember, my career had been about always working towardmore. The next deal, the next title, the next goalpost I had to reach before I could breathe. But if I was honest with myself, I hadn’t been breathing for a long time.

And now, something else was gnawing at me.

Vanessa.

I hadn’t wanted to believe it at first. Mistakes happen. Numbers get miscalculated. Data gets lost in translation. It was part of the job. But the more I thought about it, the clearer it became—these weren’t mere human errors.

Vanessa was feeding me incorrect data—subtle enough to slip past a quick glance, but off just enough to make me look incompetent if I presented it as-is.

If Neha had been with me, there would have been no chance of a discrepancy in the data. However, since she left, I’d gotten into the habit of double-checking everything. If I had moved too fast to catch the inconsistencies, I could have tanked entire client meetings.

I had my suspicions about Vanessa, which needed to be investigated. I obviously couldn’t discuss this with anyone at work. I’d have to do this on my own…or maybe not.

I wasn’t sure when I decided to go back to Sun & Chai, but I found myself pushing open the door, the scent of espresso and subtle spices hitting me instantly.

Neha was behind the counter, pulling a shot of espresso, her brows slightly furrowed in concentration. She looked relaxed, more at ease than I’d ever seen her in the years she worked for me. She was happier here—without me, I thought on a pang.

Her eyes flicked up, landing on me, and she let out a long, exaggerated sigh.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Ansel, is this your new hobby now? Haunting this café?”

I smiled. At least she was talking to me, so that was a win. “Haunting would indicate I was a ghost. I much prefer the termstalking.”

Her eyes narrowed, but I could see some amusement in her eyes. We’d always bantered at work—that was one of the things that had made working together fun, we made each other laugh.

She tilted her head like she was seriously considering it. “Stalking is illegal.”

“Not the way I’m doing it,” I assured her.

“So, why are you here? For coffee or another round of arrogant and insincere apologies?”

I rested my elbows on the counter. “I do want coffee. I also want to apologize for how I behaved,” I paused. “AndI also want to talk about something important with you.”

Neha arched an eyebrow. “Explain.”

“I need your help.”

She inhaled sharply.

“Please,” I whispered.

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