3 Years Ago

We walked toward the towering glass high-rise on Fifth Avenue and East 59th. I felt completely out of place; we maxed out our credit cards getting new outfits, like we were playing dress-up in someone else’s dream. My heart was hammering so hard I was sure Joe could hear it.

“I can’t believe this,” Joe murmured, awestruck, eyes wide as he took in the sleek, imposing building.

I leaned into his side, gently bumping his shoulder with mine, trying to steady us both.

“You should believe it,” I reassured him softly. “You belong here.”

SST Creative Partners wasn’t just well-known in advertising; they were the undisputed kings, landing the biggest high-value brands and A-list celebrities with surgical precision. And they had called us.

It wasn’t long after we’d fought tooth and nail to land the Vanity Fair “Women of Marvel” shoot. We’d only found out later that we’d stolen it out from under SST when they reached out for this very meeting. The memory of that chaotic, exhilarating week still made my pulse race; late nights editing, Joe’s quiet intensity as he selected the perfect frames. We’d celebrated with too much wine and even more laughter, talking about what our future could look like if we kept pushing.

I looked up at Joe as we stepped into the lobby. My heart was beating as fast as his; I could see it in the slight tension of his jaw, the way his hand flexed at his side. He glanced down at me and smiled; that warm, disarming smile that sometimes made something flutter low in my belly.

“I’m here because of you,” he said quietly.

My chest swelled with affection. I’d always thought he was as brilliant as he was handsome, and he was even more humble than people realized. When he’d asked me to work with him, he hadn’t called me his assistant; he’d asked me to be his partner. He never treated me like staff. He listened to me. Thanked me. Valued me.

“I’m here because I want to be,” I replied, meaning every word.

He pulled me into a strong, warm hug right there, arms wrapping around me, holding me close. I let myself melt into it, breathing in the clean, masculine scent of his cologne mixed with the faint trace of his skin. The warmth of his body against mine sent a quiet shiver down my spine. I liked it. More than I probably should have.

As we rode the elevator up, I could still feel the ghost of his embrace on my skin. There had never been any simmering heat between us before; our relationship had always been mostly platonic, deeply professional, built on trust and respect. But we knew each other so well. And after the Vanity Fair shoot, spent laughing and dreaming about the future, something had quietly shifted. A new awareness. A new tension I tried very hard not to name.

The elevator doors opened on the executive floor and we were greeted by a tall, silver-haired Black gentleman with kind eyes and a wide, welcoming smile.

“Mr. Delgado! Miss Navarro!” he boomed, voice rich and resonant.

His handshake was firm and enthusiastic, nearly lifting Joe off his feet for a second before he recovered.

“Mr. Henry, thank you for meeting with us,” Joe said smoothly.

Mr. Henry clapped a strong hand on Joe’s back.

“Please, call me John… and the thanks are all mine. We’ve been following your career for quite some time; especially after you snagged that Vanity Fair shoot right out from under us.”

Joe blushed; that endearing flush that could disarm a bomb.

“I got lucky,” he said modestly.

John led us down the hall into a stunning corner office; sleek gray walls, plush charcoal carpeting, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park in all its glory, glittering like emeralds under the late afternoon sun. There was even a private bathroom with a luxurious waterfall shower.

“This would be your office,” John said with a proud grin. “Your little home away from home.”

Joe and I stared, jaws slack.

John chuckled.

“Guess I didn’t bury the lede.”

“You want me to work here?” Joe asked, stunned.

My own pulse quickened. I’d assumed they were offering him a single project. Not… this.

“Our clients are already asking for you by name,” He continued. “They want the eyes behind those Marvel ladies. We’re willing to do whatever it takes to get you.”

He led Joe over to the massive window and pointed east.

“See that area over there? There’s a beautiful two-tenant loft with the first-floor apartment available. We own the building; we’ll cover your moving costs and give you a very generous discount on rent. The commute should be no more than fifteen minutes. What do you say we go take a look?”