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“With that government consultant.”

“I know that too.”

Sienna tilts her head. “You didn’t read the brief, did you?”

I pull up my email on my phone. There’s the meeting confirmation for 9:00 a.m. in conference room B. Ethan Mercer, cybersecurity compliance consultant and federal partnership initiative. The subject line is dry enough to cure paint.

“I skimmed it,” I admit.

“Davina.”

“I’ll read it tonight!”

She gives me a look that says she knows I won’t, but she lets it go. “Just… don’t be yourself tomorrow.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means don’t do the thing where you’re so focused on being competent that you forget to be personable. These government types like a little warmth with their technical specs.”

I frown at her. “I’m warm.”

“You’re efficient, which is good! But sometimes it comes across as too dry.”

She’s not wrong about that either. I’ve never been good at the soft parts of business—the handshakes, the small talk, the careful dance of pretending I care about someone’s weekend before getting to the point. Sienna handles all of that. Left to my own devices, I tend to treat meetings like systems to be optimized rather than relationships to be built.

“I’ll be charming,” I say.

“You’ll try.”

“I’ll try.”

She laughs, and the sound loosens something in my chest. Sienna has this way of making the pressure feel lighter, even when nothing has actually changed. It’s probably why I keep her around.

Well, that and the spring rolls.

***

The next morning, I’m fifteen minutes early. It’s a habit I can’t break.

Conference room B is the smallest of our meeting spaces, which is why we chose it. Fewer seats means fewer people, and fewer people means less time spent on things that don’t matter. The walls are glass, and the chairs are ergonomic in that way that’s supposed to look modern but mostly just looks expensive.

I’ve set up my laptop at the head of the table, pulled up the client’s security architecture, and reviewed the meeting agenda twice. By 8:52, I’m ready. By 8:58, I’m restless.

He walks in at 9:01.

Ethan Mercer is not what I expected. The brief described a cybersecurity consultant, which in my experience usually means someone in a rumpled button-down who hasn’t slept in three days. This man is… different.

He’s tall, maybe six one, with a build that suggests he takes care of himself. Brown hair, neat but not stiff. Clean-shaven. His suit is navy, well-fitted, and he moves like someone who’s used to being watched. His eyes are a pale gray-green, and when they land on me, there’s a brief moment of assessment before his expression settles into something warm and professional.

“Ms. White.” He extends his hand. “Ethan Mercer. Thank you for making time for this.”

His handshake is firm without being aggressive. His palm is dry. I file these details away without meaning to—occupational hazard.

“Please, call me Davina.” I gesture to the chair across from me. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, water?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

He sits, and for a moment we just look at each other. He’s calm in a way that feels practiced, like he’s running a script he’s performed a hundred times. Not fake, exactly. Just… measured.