Page 31 of Kentrell

“Mr. Caldwell!”

Voice boomed from the side, cutting me off mid-sentence and dragging both our eyes toward it.

Malcolm.

Flanked by a half-circle of stiff suits. The kind who smelled like overpriced cologne and entitlement. They quieted when he broke from their group, their eyes crawling over me—probably trying to figure out why I didn’t look like I belonged in this building.

I stared each one of ‘em down, letting that silence stretch long and cold. Watched how quick they looked away when I didn’t blink.

Good.

"Excuse me, Jacob," Malcolm said, shaking himself free of their circle as he headed my way. He stopped at the front desk and gave the receptionist a once-over. "Rachel, I like that color on you," he added, flashing her a smile that made her straighten in her seat and blush on cue.

"Allow me to relieve you of Mr. Caldwell."

I didn’t say a word. Just followed.

"Thank you," Rachel blinked, her voice a whisper now as she glanced at me one last time before returning to the keyboard like none of it happened.

“What’s all this?” Malcolm asked the moment we were out of earshot, eyeing the bags in my hands. He veered us away from the main elevators toward a side door tucked into the wall like a secret.

“I was starting to think you might not show up,” he added, fishing out a keycard and swiping it across the reader. Red blinked once, then flipped to green. The lock clicked.

"I was leaning toward not coming, but I’ma hear you out,” I said, my tone flat.

Malcolm exhaled, nerves leaking off him as he nodded and pushed the door open.

“I need to see this file and get a feel for shorty before I make my final decision,” I added, stepping inside behind him. "I won’t charge you for the details, but I need to know what I’m getting into."

That was bap.

I didn’t give a fuck about her backstory. Killing Zoe wasn’t on my agenda.

I just wanted to fuck.

And maybe—if the vibe was right—tip shorty off before Malcolm moved reckless. It all depended on how she came.

"Sounds good to me." Malcolm swiped his card to call the private elevator and stepped aside, letting me go in first.

We rode up to the twentieth floor in silence. He kept his eyes glued to his phone, clearly trying to look busy, but it was obvious he was on edge. The elevator chimed, and he motioned for me to step out. We weaved through a maze of glass-walled offices, each one buzzing with movement. Folks were locked in at their desks, fingers tapping hard, coffee cups clinking, voices low and constant in the background.

But all that faded when my eyes locked on the corner office to the left.

Zoe.

She was pacing, headset clipped to her ear, her face lit up like the conversation had her floating. Lips moving fast, hands gesturing like she was mid-story. If it wasn’t for that headset, I would’ve thought she was just talking to herself—laughing like nobody else existed.

And damn if that didn’t do something to me.

"I see you've already found Zoe's office," Malcolm said, catching me mid-stare. His voice snapped me out of it, and I turned slightly, frowning at the interruption.

He clocked my surprise and nodded toward the opposite direction. "My office is this way. The file’s on my desk."

That brought me back down. I followed without a word, the weight of what I was doing settling on my shoulders. I was already too deep—clothes, lunch, now I’m studying a file like I give a damn. This was a dangerous game, and I knew it.

"So, let’s get to it." Malcolm held the door open, and I stepped inside, setting the food and drinks on his desk and placing the K-Reese bags gently on the floor like they were fragile. I cut a glance at the wall clock. Five minutes. That’s all he was getting. Then I’d make my way to Zoe’s office before the ice in her coffee even thought about melting.

He handed me a manila folder, and I cracked it open, jaw tightening the deeper I went. Malcolm had done his homework.This wasn’t some surface-level dig—this wasrealclearance. The kind of info the city don’t just hand over unless they know exactly who’s asking.

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