CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ruben
As soon as I enter the theater, I’m greeted by a blend of voices, music, and excitement. The fundraiser is in full swing, and the old building radiates charm. Tiny lights hang overhead, casting a warm golden glow over the crowd. The entire space feels like a hive, with everyone buzzing around.
And then there’s her.
Lennon.
She’s the queen bee tonight, commanding attention without even trying. Her red hair is pinned up in a messy bun, a few stray tendrils brushing her neck in a way that makes my fingers twitch. She’s wearing a red t-shirt and a pair of jeans that hugs her curves and makes that ass look delicious. There’s something timeless about her, like she belongs to this place, like she’s an extension of its beauty.
I’m not sure what the hell possessed me to come here. Maybe it’s the job. Maybe it’s the theater. Maybe it’s her. Probably her.
No, definitely her.
I’m acting like an addict. A fucking junkie. And yes, I’m here for my next dose.
I’ve tried to stay out of her way, but my eyes keep finding her. I watch as she darts between tables, exchanging quick words with the staff, directing volunteers, charming the guests. I admire the architecture and the design of the building, wondering why this place isn’t in the city landmark catalog. Don’t go there, Posada, you have work to do.
Lennon is a force of nature, energy and determination mixed in a whirlwind. The rational part of me knows I should be focused on the task at hand. Securing the signature that will finally close this deal, earning me the promotion I’ve been working toward for years. But another part of me—the part I’ve been trying to ignore—wants this place to stay exactly as it is. Or was. Splendid. Beautiful. A piece of history. Her history.
A history I’m desperate to know.
Before I let myself approach her, I take a detour around the event. I’m curious—not just about her, but about the people who are here trying so damn hard to save this crumbling theater. They’re young and old, families and friends, all united by something I can’t quite put my finger on. A sense of purpose, maybe. Or hope.
At one of the booths, an older woman is selling homemade candles. Her sign reads: For the theater that kept us dreaming.
“Excuse me,” I say, stepping up to her stand. “What made you want to help this fundraiser?”
Her face lights up, and she gestures toward the building. “My husband and I had our first date there, thirty years ago. We saw Dirty Dancing . This place, well, is part of our story. Part of San Francisco’s story.”
I nod, thanking her, but her words stick with me as I move to the next stand, giving me ideas. In another booth, a group of teenagers is selling tie-dye tote bags and shirts. Their laughter is infectious, and I can’t help but smile as I approach.
“You kids are pretty invested in this theater,” I say.
One of the boys, barely sixteen I guess, shrugs. “It’s where we watch movies for cheap. Where we hang out. We don’t want to lose it.”
Another girl chimes in, her eyes sparkling. “Yeah, and Mrs. Olson lets us use the stage for our drama club. We wouldn’t have anywhere else to go.”
By the time I’ve made my way to one of the stands to buy something to drink, the weight in my chest has doubled. Each story, each reason, makes my conflict grow louder. The theater is more than just a building. It’s a living, breathing part of this community. And yet, my job is to take it away.
The same evil drug that brought me here takes control again, flooding my veins like a slow-burning fire. It’s got my hands moving before my mind even catches up, pushing me forward, guiding me like some unseen force has me by the throat and won’t let go.
Before I can second-guess it, I grab one of the donation forms from the table tucked into the corner. The pen feels weighted in my grip, heavy with purpose and inevitability. My name flows onto the paper in bold, black ink, the numbers following. It’s instinct, a command issued from somewhere beneath logic, beneath reason. This is the right thing to do. No, this is the only thing to do.
A green screen flashes across the tablet. Transaction approved .
I exhale slowly, a sharp, almost primal satisfaction settling deep in my gut.
My gaze roams the space again, soaking in the walls, the stage, the lingering echoes of a thousand stories told under these lights. This place—it’s something else. It hums with life, with history, with a heartbeat of its own. And as ridiculous as it sounds, I swear I can feel it crawling beneath my skin, twisting around my ribs, rooting inside me like it’s always belonged there.
Something was cast over me the moment I stepped inside the very first time. A spell. A promise.
And now, without even meaning to, I’ve made one in return.
Then there’s her. My fire haired witch.
And right now, she’s running herself ragged and has since I got here. I’d bet my Porsche she’s been at this since the crack of dawn. When she starts to slow, her steps less brisk, her movements less sharp, I know I’m right. She’s running out of gas.
That’s my cue.
I head to the taco truck parked near the back entrance, a lucky find among the gourmet caterers. Nothing beats tacos when you’re running on empty. I order two carne asada plates with all the fixings. Salsa verde , extra guacamole, beans, and grilled green onions. My mouth waters at the smell, and for a brief moment, I’m transported back to family cookouts with my siblings, my dad manning the grill, my mom yelling at us to stop picking at the home-made tortillas before dinner.
With the food in hand, I weave through the crowd, zeroing in on her. She’s standing near one of the stages, talking to a man who looks like he’s so charmed by her that he’s about to donate half his salary. Even in exhaustion, she’s magnetic. I know it. No, I feel it. The man is smiling, nodding along to whatever she’s saying, but I’m not paying attention to him. My focus is entirely on her.
When she’s finally alone, I make my move.
“Don’t tell me you’re running on fumes,” I say, holding out one of the boxes. “This one’s for you.”
She blinks at me, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. “What?”
“You heard me.” I smirk, lifting the box a little higher so she can see. “I don’t want to beat you because you’re weak, Lennon. I want to win when you’re at your best.”
Her lips part, a faint furrow appearing between her brows. She’s trying to figure me out, trying to decide if I’m here to help or to mess with her. Before she can answer, her stomach growls loudly. Busted! I can’t help but chuckle.
“See?” I say, placing the box on the small table next to her. “Even your stomach agrees with me.”
She crosses her arms, her eyes narrowing. “Win what? This isn’t a game.”
“Oh, but it is,” I reply, my voice dropping slightly. “You just haven’t figured out the rules yet.”
She stares at me, her expression unreadable. For a moment, I think she’s going to throw the food back in my face. But then she exhales, a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, and the tension in her shoulders eases slightly.
“For what it’s worth,” I say, leaning in just a fraction, “this is impressive. You’ve done good work here.”
The compliment catches her off guard. I can see it in the way her whisky eyes flicker, the way her lips part as if to say something but then close again. She’s not used to hearing praise from me, and for some reason, that thought makes me want to shower her with it.
“You shouldn’t be happy about this,” she says finally, her voice steady but quiet. “You’re the enemy, remember? You’re the one trying to take all of this away.”
“I’m still allowed to recognize effort when I see it.”
She shakes her head, a faint, humorless laugh escaping her. “I don’t need your approval. Or your food.”
“And yet,” I say, gesturing to the box, “it’s still there, waiting for you.”
She doesn’t respond, and I take that as my cue to leave. I’ve said my piece. As I walk away, I can’t help but wonder what’s going through her mind. Is she confused? Annoyed? Intrigued?
Hell, maybe she’s all three.
But one thing is certain: I’m not done with her. Not by a long shot.
Today, I made a decision. I’m going to have it all. The senior partnership promotion. The girl. The hard part is figuring out how to make that happen without destroying everything in the process.
But something tells me the chase is going to be worth it.