Jason had claimed the farthest corner chair, legs stretched out, arms crossed. He was the picture of a man who had given up.

Walking through the entrance was a man who didn’t just belong to this world.

He moved as if he commanded it.

The black leather coat caught the light with every step, the gemstone spine glinting like a secret. The backless design, that white ruffled window cut into the leather—it was theatrical. Bold. The kind of thing that was either a disaster or genius.

It was genius.

And then Tim saw where the current was taking him.

Bruce, who had been in the middle of a hollow pleasantry with a board member. Bruce, whose shoulders had been set in polite boredom for the last two hours.

Bruce, who looked up as the man reached him.

And simply—stopped.

His whole posture changed. His face. His eyes.

The man laid a hand on Bruce’s arm. Confident. Familiar. He smiled.