CHAPTER FIVE
“The stories people tell.”
By the second week of her new job, Zara had learned that New York ran on two things.
Coffee.
And gossip.
It didn't matter whether you worked in fashion, finance, hospitality or politics.
Somebody always knew somebody.
Somebody always had a story.
Bellamy & Co. was no different.
The office buzzed from the moment Zara arrived on Thursday morning.
Phones rang constantly.
Design boards covered every available surface.
Someone argued over floral samples in the conference room while another coordinator chased a missing cake delivery across Manhattan.
Zara loved every minute of it.
She had barely settled at her desk when a cheerful voice interrupted her concentration.
"You survived your first gala."
Zara looked up to see a woman about her age carrying two coffees.
She wore wide-leg trousers, trainers and a bright orange blazer that somehow worked perfectly together.
Her curly hair was piled into a messy bun, and she smiled like she'd never met a stranger.
"You must be Zara."
"I am."
"I'm Naomi."
She placed one coffee beside Zara's laptop.
"I noticed you looked like you were about to fall asleep."
"You can tell?"
"You answered an email with 'Kind Regards' twice."
Zara laughed.
"That's bad?"
"It means your brain has officially stopped working."
"I'm impressed you noticed."
"I'm observant."
Naomi sat on the edge of Zara's desk.
"I also know everyone here."
"So you're the office gossip?"
"I prefer 'keeper of useful information.'"
"That sounds like gossip with better marketing."
Naomi grinned.
"See? You're funny. We should be friends."
The words were so casual that Zara almost didn't know how to respond.
Friends.
Back home, friendships had always been difficult.
Her mother had a habit of finding reasons why every friend Zara made was "a bad influence."
Eventually, it became easier not to let people get close.
"You okay?" Naomi asked gently.
"Sorry."
"I was just thinking."
"About?"
"Nothing important."
Naomi didn't push.
Instead, she slid a sticky note across the desk.
Lunch? 12:30.
Zara smiled.
"I'd like that."
"Perfect."
Naomi stood.
"And don't worry."
"What?"
"I don't bite."
...
Lunch was a tiny Caribbean café tucked between a bookshop and a laundrette in Brooklyn.
The smell of jerk chicken and curry goat filled the air.
Naomi ordered enough food for three people.
"You eat like this every day?" Zara asked.
"I believe in supporting local businesses."
"By eating the entire menu?"
"Exactly."
They found a table near the window.
For a while they talked about everything except work.
Naomi had grown up in Brooklyn.
Her parents still lived fifteen minutes away.
She'd wanted to become an architect before discovering event planning by accident.
"What about you?" she asked.
"What did you always want to do?"
Zara smiled into her drink.
"When I was little..."
"I wanted to own a café."
"A café?"
"With books."
"And fresh flowers."
"And homemade cakes."
Naomi's face lit up.
"I would absolutely go there."
"My mother said it wasn't realistic."
Naomi rolled her eyes.
"Parents have a funny habit of confusing fear with advice."
Zara looked down at the table.
"Yeah."
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then Naomi changed the subject.
"So..."
Zara already knew what was coming.
"So..."
"You met Malik Carter."
Zara sighed.
"I should've known."
"Half the staff saw him helping you."
"It wasn't that dramatic."
"You made Brooklyn's most eligible bachelor pick place cards off the floor."
"I didn't make him."
"He chose to."
Zara laughed.
"I still don't understand why everyone keeps acting like he's royalty."
Naomi's smile faded slightly.
"Because people either admire him..."
"...or they're terrified of him."
...
Back at the office, Zara couldn't stop thinking about that conversation.
Later that afternoon, she found Camille reviewing mood boards for another charity event.
"Can I ask you something?"
Camille looked up.
"Of course."
"Who exactly is Malik Carter?"
Camille placed her pen down carefully.
"That's a complicated question."
"I've noticed."
Camille leaned back in her chair.
"What have you heard?"
"Only that he owns half of Brooklyn."
Camille smiled faintly.
"Not quite."
"But enough?"
"Enough."
She paused before continuing.
"Ten years ago..."
"...Malik Carter's name appeared in newspapers for very different reasons."
Zara listened quietly.
"He grew up in one of the toughest neighbourhoods in Brooklyn."
"His father was killed when he was young."
"His mother worked three jobs."
"There wasn't much choice."
Camille's voice remained calm.
"He became involved with gangs."
"Then drugs."
"Then organised crime."
Zara felt her stomach tighten.
"He eventually built an empire."
"And lost almost everything."
"What happened?"
"He went to prison."
The words hung between them.
"When he came home..."
"...he disappeared."
"What do you mean?"
"No interviews."
"No parties."
"No attention."
"He quietly started buying neglected buildings."
"Opened businesses."
"Hired local people."
"Funded youth programmes."
Camille looked directly at Zara.
"I've worked with Mr. Carter for six years."
"I've never once seen him raise his voice."
"I've never seen him treat anyone with disrespect."
"But..."
"But history doesn't disappear."
Zara nodded slowly.
"I understand."
"Do you?"
Camille asked gently.
"Because New York loves redemption stories."
"But it loves reminding people who they used to be even more."
...
That evening, Zara walked home instead of taking the subway.
She needed time to think.
Children played basketball in a nearby park.
Music drifted from passing cars.
Someone laughed loudly from a rooftop gathering.
Brooklyn felt alive.
She stopped outside a small corner shop to buy milk.
The elderly shopkeeper smiled warmly.
"You new around here?"
"Is it obvious?"
"You still look up at the buildings."
She laughed.
"I guess I do."
As she paid, the shopkeeper looked through the window.
"Speaking of buildings..."
A sleek black Range Rover rolled slowly past.
The shopkeeper nodded toward it.
"That's Mr. Carter."
Zara instinctively looked outside.
The vehicle stopped at a red light.
Through the driver's window she recognised Malik immediately.
He wasn't alone.
An elderly woman sat in the passenger seat.
She laughed at something he said before gently patting his arm.
There were no bodyguards.
No flashy jewellery.
No expensive entourage.
Just a man driving an older woman home.
"Who's that with him?" Zara asked.
The shopkeeper smiled.
"Miss Evelyn."
"He takes her grocery shopping every Thursday."
"He does?"
"Been doing it for years."
The light turned green.
The Range Rover drove away.
The shopkeeper packed Zara's shopping into a paper bag.
"People like talking about who a person used to be."
He handed her the bag.
"I prefer watching who they choose to be now."
...
That night, Zara sat on the fire escape outside her bedroom window.
The city lights stretched endlessly before her.
She thought about Tennessee.
About second chances.
About the version of herself she'd left behind.
Could people really change?
She wanted to believe they could.
After all...
Wasn't that exactly what she was trying to do?
Her phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
She hesitated before opening the message.
Malik: I hope your second week is treating you better than your first.
Zara stared at the screen.
She hadn't given him her number.
Then she remembered.
The Bellamy & Co. emergency contact sheet from the gala.
She frowned despite the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
After a long pause, she typed back.
Zara: Should I be concerned that you somehow found my number?
The reply came almost instantly.
Malik: You probably should be.
A second message followed.
Malik: For the record, I asked Camille's permission before I texted you.
Zara laughed quietly.
At least he'd been honest.
She looked out across Brooklyn one more time before replying.
Zara: Goodnight, Mr. Carter.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally his message arrived.
Malik: Goodnight, Zara.
And it's Malik.
For reasons she couldn't explain...
Seeing her name on his screen made her heart beat just a little faster.
She locked her phone before she could overthink it.
Outside, the city carried on beneath a sky full of possibilities.
Somewhere between Tennessee and Brooklyn...
Between fear and hope...
Between who she had been and who she wanted to become...
Something inside Zara was beginning to change.
She just wasn't ready to admit that Malik Carter might have something to do with it.
End of Chapter Five.