Control

29 - Liability

a/n - double update since these chapters dont have a ton of fun stuff in them!! The two after this are FUN ;)

I get there early, which I immediately regret the moment I look up at the building.

It's taller than I remember. Or maybe I've just never really looked at it before, the one time I really looked was when I brought the food to Alexander, Enzo, and... Vince. I never truly looked at my surroundings, too excited about baking and having people hopefully enjoy it.

I stop on the sidewalk and stare up at the AVE Industries logo like it might explain itself if I give it long enough.

AVE.

As in Alexander's AVE.

As in the company I have apparently been working for this entire time without knowing it.

My stomach does a slow, nauseating flip. I knew the bar was inside a hotel. I did not know the hotel belonged to AVE. Which means I've been clocking in under the same corporate umbrella as the man I'm supposed to go on a date with later tonight, which feels like a deeply unfunny joke. Like the universe decided to test how well I can handle overlap.

Spoiler alert: not well. I handle it not well.

I check my phone again. I know I'm supposed to call Jess when I arrive. That was the instruction. Call when you're downstairs. Except now I'm early, and calling feels aggressive.

Would texting be better? Texting feels less pushy, I'll do that!

I text.

Hi Jess!! I just got here a bit early 😊 I'm downstairs whenever you're ready!!

I stare at the message after I send it, immediately regretting the exclamation points. Both of them. Why did I use two. Why in the world did I use two. I hover over the screen, debating whether to send a follow-up clarifying that I'm not impatient, just punctual, and there's really no rush, and I can actually go home right now and never come back if that would be better, but then—

Her response comes in.

Thanks. I'll be down shortly.

I want to die. She didn't use a single exclamation point. Or any emoji! I'm so stupid.

Inside, the lobby is quiet in a way that feels super expensive. No music. No clutter. Everything is clean and deliberate and very very neutral. The people walking through it all look like they belong here. They move with purpose. With confidence. With the posture of people who have never accidentally wandered into a labor violation.

My stomach flips hard enough that I almost laugh, which would be inappropriate. I glance down at myself like maybe my outfit can give me some guidance.

I tried. I really did.

I'm wearing a black skirt that actually fits properly, a soft sweater tucked in neatly, and tights that are technically neutral until you look too closely. At first glance, they're just dark. Professional-adjacent. But if you look long enough, you can see it: a faint, scattered pattern, like deer spots across the fabric. Subtle enough that I convinced myself they counted as tasteful.

Now I'm less sure.

A little shorter than knee-high boots I cleaned last night. A coat I only wear when I need to feel like a real adult. Hair brushed. Makeup light but intentional. I look like someone who tried very hard and is deeply afraid that effort will be visible.

Jess appears before I can spiral any further.

She steps out of a side hallway and immediately everything in the lobby rearranges itself around her. She's tall, composed, wearing a tailored suit in a deep, rich neutral that fits her like it was custom-made. Sharp shoulders. Clean lines. A silk blouse underneath that catches the light just enough to be distracting.