Chapter 12 - Gela
I pick up my phone again, just to make sure I’m reading this right.
It still feels too good to be true. I’m still reeling from the disappointment of that interested client who turned out to be a spy, so, for safety measures, I begin to Google Jason Chen, the marketing director for TriCore Solutions. From there, it’s a rabbit hole.
There’s so much information available on the company, with features spread out across magazines and trusted newspapers like The New York Times. This isn’t just a set-up.
A legitimate, non-spying company with deep pockets is interested in becoming a client. This is my first break since the whole mess started, and I haven’t been able to sit still since I received that first email.
I’m more excited than I’ve been in ages. For three days now, I’ve been discussing my ideas with Jason on calls, and he likes every one of them. He wants a proper meeting now, in person tomorrow, just to close the deal.
For a client like this, I’d fly to the moon myself.
“Now, what the hell has you so excited this morning?” Valentin’s annoyed voice booms from across the room. “You haven’t put your phone down once, and I’m afraid your fingers might burn off.”
“I got a client,” I blurt out, needing to share the good news.
“That's great! Who is it?”
Valentin sounds genuinely thrilled, which gets me even more excited.
“TriCore Solutions. They're an up-and-coming tech company specializing in project management software. Valentin.” I take a breath. “This could be huge for me.”
“Well done, Gela!” He fists the air. “I knew you could do it!”
His happiness is infectious, but of course, there’s that one elephant in the room I haven’t yet addressed, and it’s about time I do.
“They want to meet tomorrow at Café Umbria.”
That smile knocks itself off, and Valentin looks like someone brought in rain boots with dirt and soiled his floors. “Like… in person?”
“Of course, in person,” I snap, already expecting the fight and bracing for it. “That's how business meetings typically work.”
“That’s not happening,” he declares it like a royal order, and I feel the tendrils of anger begin to form.
I feel any and all excitement shrivel up, only to be replaced by a very hot stream of anger. “Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t clear. I wasn't asking for permission!”
His expression hardens. “What you want doesn’t matter. The Zakharovs are still looking for you.”
“And they'll keep looking for me whether I'm locked in here or not.” I push back from my desk in frustration. “I can’t hide from my responsibilities. This is my career we’re talking about!”
“Need I mention you won’t have much chance at building this career if you’re dead?” he almost shouts at me.
“I've spent years building this business, and now I finally have a chance at a major client during this whole mess, and you just say 'no' like you're the king of me? I’m quite certain that the Zakharovs won’t put a bullet in my head the very first time I step out. How will they even know where to find me?”
“Look,” he says, his voice softening, “I understand this is important to you—”
“No, you don't understand,” I interrupt. “If you did, you wouldn't be so quick to dismiss it. This is who I am, Valentin. My work is everything to me.”
He runs a hand through his hair, and I hear him take a deep breath.
“Don’t breathe like that,” I hiss.
He looks incredulous. “Breathe like what?”
“Like I’m the problem here!” I plant my hands on my hips.
“You’re telling me how to breathe and then have the audacity to call me the King of you? Seriously, Gela?”
He looks so damn frustrated that it’s almost comical, but I hold back my smile.
Suddenly, I realize the rush I feel isn’t just from defending my stance. It’s from this heated exchange, this twisted, exciting thing we do together, where we get under each other’s skin.
“Fine. I’ll take that back,” I admit, “as long as you stop dismissing my idea to go.”
“I’m not dismissing you, Gela, but look at the facts!” he groans in frustration. “Those men who wanted to kill you are still looking for you. That last phone call you got wasn't just a coincidence. That client was a set-up.”
“This one isn’t!”
“So far,” he glowers.
A tense silence falls between us.
“Look, I can’t just let my clients walk away because you won’t let me show them my face!” I say at last, throwing my hands up in frustration.
We're both breathing hard now, standing in the middle of the office, tension crackling between us like electricity. But I see I might have driven a point home, because Valentin’s starting to look conflicted.
“Come on.” I soften my tone to coax him. “Let me have one meeting. TriCore is legit. I’ve checked them out thoroughly.”
“But—”
“And we’re meeting in a very public place.” I really drive the point down.
The fight itself is exciting, and I wait for what he’ll say with bated breath. With Valentin, every conversation gets the blood flowing, my heart pumping, and my mind going.
Valentin is quiet for a long moment, taking all the time in the world as he thinks. Finally, he sighs.
“Fine.”
Well, that’s a surprise.
“Really?” My voice comes out squeaky, like a kid at Disneyland.
“But I'm coming with you,” he adds quickly.
“What?” I screech. “Like a chaperone?”
“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it,” he shrugs.
“No way,” I shake my head. “How is my client even going to take me seriously?”
“That’s not my problem now, is it?”
“Valentin, I swear, if you mess this up…”
“How will I mess this up? Unless…if you find I’m too distracting to pull off a perfect pitch?” He grins at me.
“Oh, please. Nothing comes between me and my pitch,” I snap back, even though the way he stares at me sends a familiar heat rushing down my neck.
“Really?” His voice drops to a dramatic whisper. “Then let me come.”
I open my mouth to protest, then close it. This is already more than I expected him to concede, and I need to learn when to let things go. “Okay, but you have to sit at a different table. I can't have my potential client thinking I need a bodyguard for coffee.”
“I'll stay out of sight,” he agrees, “but I'll be watching.”
“That's not creepy at all,” I mutter.
“Gela.” His voice has that warning tone that used to intimidate me, but now just makes me want to roll my eyes. “This isn't a joke.”
“I know it's not a joke,” I counter. “But neither is my career. So thank you for understanding that.”
Something shifts in his expression, a softening around his eyes. “I do respect what you've built. I admire it, actually.”
The compliment catches me off guard, and I feel a flush creeping up my neck. “Well... good. Thank you.”
An awkward silence falls between us. I'm not used to winning arguments with him, and I'm not entirely sure what to make of this victory.
“Just tell me what time we leave tomorrow,” he says, turning back to his desk. “And wear something low-key.”
“Low-key? What does that even mean? Should I wear a disguise? Perhaps a fake mustache and glasses?”
He looks over his shoulder at me, and I swear I see his lip twitch. “Just try not to look like you walked off a runway.”
“So no tiara, got it.” I turn back to my computer with a firm, businesslike nod.
It's strange, but these arguments with Valentin have become something I almost... enjoy? He meets me word for word, thought for thought. It's exhausting, but still the goddamn highlight of my day.
***
The next morning, I'm literally shaking with nerves as we pull up to Café Umbria.
I've dressed in what I hope qualifies as “low-key”—my favorite dark jeans, a simple blouse, and minimal makeup. Professional enough for a meeting, but casual enough to blend in.
“Remember,” Valentin says as we park, “I'll be at the table by the window. If anything feels off, give me the signal.”
“The signal being what? A smoke flare? Morse code?”
“Touch your ear twice,” he says, ignoring my sarcasm.
“Very spy movie of you.”
“Gela.” He turns to face me fully, his expression serious. “Be careful.”
Something in his tone makes my stomach flutter.
“I will.”
We enter separately. I go in first and choose a table in the middle of the café, set up my laptop, and open my portfolio.
Valentin follows a few minutes later and settles at a table near the window with a newspaper, looking like every spy cliché I've ever seen.
Bang on time, a man in his mid-thirties approaches my table. “Gela Jones?”
I stand to shake his hand. “Mr. Chen? Nice to meet you.”
“Jason, please.” He smiles warmly. He's clean-cut, well-dressed, and looks like he never makes a single mistake. He’s exactly what you'd expect from a marketing director at a growing tech company.
I feel Valentin's eyes on us as Jason takes a seat.
“I have to say,” Jason begins, “when I saw your portfolio, I was impressed. But I didn't expect you to be so talented and young. It's refreshing to see someone who clearly knows what they're doing without the decades of rigid thinking that comes with experience.”
I already like this guy.
“Thank you,” I say sweetly. “I believe in staying current with trends while focusing on what actually connects with people.”
“That's exactly what we need.” He nods enthusiastically. “TriCore has been stuck in a very... corporate mindset. We need someone who can help us speak to our audience more authentically.”
For the next forty minutes, we dive into the specifics of their project. Jason is engaged, asking smart questions, and clearly valuing my input.
It all feels incredibly validating and reminds me of why I love my job in the first place.
“I think you're exactly what we're looking for,” he says when the meeting’s about to end and slides a contract across the table. “Our launch is in three months, and we’d need your team to start right away.”
I try not to let my excitement show too much. “I'd be delighted to work with TriCore. My team can begin immediately.”
“Excellent.” Jason beams, standing to shake my hand again. “I'll have the first payment processed by the end of the day. Welcome aboard, Gela.”
“Thank you for this opportunity,” I say, meaning every word.
After Jason leaves, I can't help the grin that spreads across my face. I finally landed another big client. It’s only the beginning for my company!
I turn to share the news with Valentin, only to find his table empty.
I pack up my things, thinking he must have gone off for a call or something, but he doesn’t return. I begin to feel anxious when I see no sign of him.
I check my phone, but there are no messages or calls.
This is strange. Valentin wouldn't just leave, not when he was so insistent on watching over me. Did something happen?
I make my way toward the back of the café, thinking perhaps he went to the restroom.
“Valentin?” I call softly.
Suddenly, a hand shoots out from an alcove, grabs my wrist, and yanks me into the shadows.
My pulse spikes, and I open my mouth to scream, but another hand covers it as I'm pulled against a hard chest.
“Shhh,” Valentin's voice whispers in my ear. “Don't make a sound.”
My heart still pounds against my ribcage, the fear and rush of it all too fresh.
His lips brush my ear as he whispers, “We have company.”
My blood runs cold. I turn my head slightly, just enough to follow his gaze to the front of the café. Through the gap in the hallway, I can see two men in dark suits.
“Zakharov's men,” Valentin breathes, his arm tightening around my waist protectively. “They found us.”