Chapter 1 Riley #2
But the woman's expression softened immediately, as if she'd recognized the landmine she'd stepped on.
"I'm sorry—I haven't even introduced myself properly.
Gerri Wilder." She extended a manicured hand.
"And I wasn't criticizing, dear. I can see something special happening here.
But I also recognize strain when I see it. "
Riley accepted the handshake, noting the surprising strength in those perfectly polished fingers. Gerri reached into her designer bag and produced a business card with the efficiency of someone who'd done this dance before.
"I know someone who specializes in untangling financial knots. He's quite good at what he does."
Riley glanced down at the card. Adrian Kael. Kael Corporation. Investor & Financial Analyst. The investor title alone made her jaw clench. She'd had enough of men with impressive business cards thinking they could swoop in and reorganize her life according to their vision of efficiency and profit.
"I'm not looking for investors," Riley said, her tone flattening to match her expression. "And I'm definitely not looking for some man to fix everything for me."
Gerri's laugh held genuine warmth. "Oh, he's much more than just an investor, darling.
Adrian loves crunching numbers and empowering business owners far more than throwing money at problems and calling it solved.
" Her eyes seemed to glitter with something Riley couldn't quite identify.
"Think of it as a consultation. No pressure, no obligation to use his services. "
Riley hesitated, pride warring with the practical voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like her mother's.
Around them, the evidence of her financial struggles was impossible to ignore—the patched equipment, the stack of invoices she'd been avoiding, and the membership numbers that had dropped since she'd started handling everything alone.
"I'll bring him by tomorrow," Gerri continued, as if sensing Riley's internal debate.
The people who counted on this place and her flashed through Riley's mind—her students who'd found confidence in these scarred walls, Lila who'd invested her own time and energy, and her mother who'd watched Riley build something meaningful.
Maybe one consultation wouldn't hurt. Maybe she could listen without compromising her independence.
"Fine," Riley said finally, the word coming out shorter than she'd intended. "One consultation."
Gerri's smile widened like she'd just witnessed a checkmate in a game only she understood. "Perfect. You won't regret this."
After the woman left, Riley stared down at the business card, turning it over in her fingers. The weight of the cardstock felt expensive and substantial.
Adrian Kael. Even the name sounded like authority and control.
"That woman seemed peculiar," Lila said, appearing at Riley's shoulder with silent grace. "But perceptive. Like she knew exactly what you needed right now."
Riley slipped the card into her back pocket, ignoring the way it seemed to burn against her skin. "Yeah. That's what worries me about this whole situation."
Later that evening, the grilled chicken salad sat half-eaten on Riley's small dining table.
Her studio apartment's kitchen window framed the Philadelphia skyline, city lights beginning to flicker as dusk settled over the concrete and glass.
The familiar hum of traffic below usually soothed her after long days at the gym, but tonight her mind refused to quiet.
Adrian Kael's business card lay beside her plate like an accusation, the embossed lettering catching the overhead light. She'd memorized every detail—the weight of the cardstock, the precise font, and the way his name commanded attention even in print.
"Just a consultation," she muttered, stabbing a piece of lettuce with unnecessary force. "Financial advice. Budget planning. Nothing more."
But her heart raced for some strange reason. She pressed her palm against her chest, annoyed at her body's betrayal. This was business. A simple consultation with a man whose reputation preceded him—controlled, tactical, emotionally untouchable according to the articles she'd found online.
Perfect. Exactly the kind of detached professional she needed.
The kind who wouldn't try to change her or her vision. Who wouldn't suggest she soften her image or compromise her integrity for broader market appeal. Someone who dealt in facts and figures, not feelings and manipulation.
Her phone buzzed against the table. A text from Lila. Stop overthinking whatever you're overthinking. I can practically feel your anxiety from across town.
Riley's laugh came out sharp. "I'm not anxious," she said to the empty apartment, but her fork clattered against the plate as she set it down.
She was Riley Vaughn. Multiple-time kickboxing champion. She'd built her gym from nothing, survived her father's abandonment, and carved out respect in a world that didn't hand it to women freely. Men in expensive suits didn't make her nervous.
So why did her stomach flutter every time she thought about tomorrow's meeting?
"Because there's a lot riding on this," she said aloud, pushing back from the table.
But something deep down whispered that tomorrow may just change the trajectory of her carefully controlled life.