Gareth & Leah
This is his sanctuary. A place where the noise of negotiations drowns beneath the rhythm of his own body, slicing through the water with clean, practiced strokes.
He reaches the edge and pulls himself out in one smooth motion. Water beads down his torso, slipping over his Speedo and trailing down his legs. He reaches for his towel, then sees her entering the courtyard.
“Leah,” he calls, cutting across the stillness.
She stops. Adjusts the strap of her bag. Her gaze drops to his pecs, then back up.
“Hi, Gareth.”
“Long day?”
“Uneventful.”
“I bet.”
“Can I help you with something?” she asks.
Ever since Daphne had blabbed about Leah’s supposed vendetta against Wendy, it had stuck in Gareth’s head. Leah had that edge, typical of her generation. All sharp elbows and unearned confidence. Like she had something to prove, and assumed the world would care.
“Just making sure you’re… being careful,” he says, casually now, like the warning is just a favor. “I’ve been hearing things. Rumors.”
Leah’s eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
Gareth meets her stare, but sidesteps the challenge. “I remembered something recently. From years ago. When I started in LA real estate, I had this assistant. Fresh out of business school. Smart kid. Thought I could trust him.”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
“Let me guess.” She folds her arms, unimpressed. “He screwed you over.”
“Exactly. Tried to poach a listing. Thought he was slick. Luckily, an associate flagged it before it was too late.”
“So what happened?”
“What do you think? I fired him. Made sure everyone knew why. Reputation? Gone overnight.”
“Did he bounce back?” she asks, curiosity bleeding in.
“Last I heard, he’s in Scottsdale. Turning tricks for fentanyl and meth.” He watches her reaction, just the slightest crack in her composure. “Sad, really. Ambition mutates into greed. And greed? Greed ruins people.”
She almost rolls her eyes, but stops herself. “Y’know, Gareth, for a mansplainer, you’re quite dramatic.”
“Just be careful, Leah. Push the wrong buttons, and it won’t end well. Trust me.”
Then he walks past her, towel slung casually over one shoulder. Leah doesn’t flinch as he disappears up the stairwell.
“Self-righteous dick,” she mutters, spinning on her heel.
Seconds later, she’s at Daphne’s apartment door. No knock. She barges right in.
Daphne barely stirs, sprawled across the velvet couch in a T-shirt, McQueen sunglasses shielding what are almost certainly bloodshot eyes. The air is dense with vape smoke.
“Jesus, Leah. The concept of knocking ever occur to you?”
Leah snaps, the words ripping out before she can think: “I trusted you, Daph. And what did you do? You opened your big mouth and let me walk into it blind.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Daphne shoots back, peeling off her shades with a slow blink.
“Gareth. He knows something. About the Wendy thing. He knew. You told him, didn’t you?”
“Oh, spare me the melodrama.”
“Did you say anything to him?”
“Babes, I barely remember what I said to the Erewhon cashier this morning, and he was hot. You think I’ve got the energy to gossip about your boring work drama? Why would I care?”
“I don’t believe you.”
“That’s fine,” Daphne says, reaching for the tray on the coffee table. She drags a manicured nail through the powder. “Look, whatever game you’re playing at NDA? It’s eating you alive. You’re acting kinda unhinged.” She nudges the tray toward Leah. “Why don’t you take the edge off?”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“It’s called not caring, look it up.”
Leah doesn’t answer. She lets out a breathless laugh, somewhere between disbelief and disgust, then storms out, letting the door slam.
“Whatever,” Daphne mutters. She drags her nail through the powder again, lifts the straw, and inhales.