I silenced my phone quickly, feeling Nathaniel's piercing gaze on me. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—suspicion, curiosity, I couldn't tell—before his expression returned to its usual cold mask.
"Your phone," he stated flatly.
"My client," I replied, matching his tone. "I have other jobs besides fixing your air conditioning."
He stared at me for another beat before turning away. "Raymond, get her upstairs. Now."
As Raymond led me to the elevator, I could feel Nathaniel's eyes following us. The weight of his stare lingered even after the elevator doors closed.
"You know," Raymond said quietly as we ascended, "people don't usually speak to Mr. Ricardo that way."
I shrugged. "I'm not most people."
"Clearly," he muttered.
The executive floor was noticeably warmer than the lobby. Raymond guided me to the central air system, and I got to work immediately. It didn't take long to identify the problem—a faulty compressor that someone had tried to patch rather than replace properly.
"Amateur work," I muttered, pulling tools from my bag.
Raymond hovered nearby. "Can you fix it?"
"Of course I can fix it." I didn't look up from my work. "But whoever you hired before should be banned from touching anything more complex than a light switch."
Forty minutes later, cool air was flowing through the vents again. I packed my tools, satisfied with my work.
"All done," I announced, wiping sweat from my brow. "Should hold up perfectly now."
Raymond seemed genuinely impressed. "That was... efficient."
"I told you. I'm good at what I do." I handed him my invoice. "Multiple jobs, remember?"
As we walked back toward the elevator, I checked my watch. Perfect timing.
"By the way," I said casually, "I'll see you at noon."
Raymond frowned. "Excuse me?"
"Noon. The lunch meeting at La Maison." I pressed the elevator button. "I'll be there."
His confusion deepened. "The executive lunch? That's a closed meeting. Mr. Ricardo specifically—"
"Just letting you know," I cut him off as the doors opened. "Thanks for the escort, Raymond."
I left him standing there, baffled expression on his face. This was just phase one of today's plan. Phase two would begin at exactly twelve o'clock.
---
Nathaniel's fingers moved swiftly over his keyboard, responding to "Need Iron" about their shared frustration with stubborn people in their lives. Something about this online relationship felt different—refreshing in its anonymity. No expectations, no history, just honest conversation.
His phone buzzed with a message from Raymond.
"The AC is fixed. That woman did it in under an hour."
Nathaniel frowned. That woman. Something about her bothered him—the coincidence of her phone ringing exactly when he called Need Iron, her seemingly endless determination to cross his path. Was she stalking him? Using random jobs to get close to him?
And why did she look so damn familiar?
He pushed the thought away. He had more important matters to attend to than some persistent service worker with boundary issues.
At eleven-fifty, he arrived at La Maison for his lunch meeting with the board members. The private room was already prepared, the table set elegantly for the seven expected attendees.
"Mr. Ricardo," the maître d' greeted him. "Everything is ready as requested."
Nathaniel nodded curtly and took his seat at the head of the table. One by one, the board members filed in, exchanging pleasantries he had no interest in returning. Raymond sat to his right, tablet at the ready.
At precisely noon, the chef entered to present the menu—except it wasn't the usual chef.
It was her.
"What is the meaning of this?" Nathaniel demanded, rising from his seat.
She smiled sweetly, completely unfazed by his anger. "I'm Chef Julie Johnson, here to present today's special menu." Her voice was calm, professional, as if her presence was perfectly normal. "We've prepared a seasonal tasting course featuring local produce and sustainable seafood."
The board members looked confused but intrigued. One of them, Mrs. Henderson, smiled. "How lovely! La Maison never mentioned they had a new chef."
"I'm not—" Juliana began, but I cut her off.
"She's not supposed to be here," I said coldly. "Raymond, deal with this."
Raymond stepped forward, clearly embarrassed. "I'm sorry, sir. She mentioned she would be here, but I assumed she was joking."
Juliana set a folder on the table and slid it toward me. "While your assistant sorts this out, perhaps you could finally look at these papers, Mr. Ricardo."
"What papers?" asked Mr. Peterson, another board member.
"Nothing relevant to this meeting," I replied sharply.
Juliana's smile never faltered. "Just proof that we're legally married, that's all."
A stunned silence fell over the room. Mrs. Henderson's eyes widened. Mr. Peterson choked on his water.
"Married?" Mrs. Henderson repeated. "Nathaniel, you never mentioned—"
"Because it's not true," I hissed. "This woman has been harassing me for days."
Juliana reached into her chef's coat and pulled out a stack of cards. "I'm not just a chef, by the way. Or an AC repair technician." She handed them around the table. "I'm also a licensed electrician, plumber, mechanic, and software engineer. I run three small businesses. I hold patents in renewable energy. I'm a problem-solver, Mr. Ricardo."
I snatched one of the cards. Impossibly, each credential appeared legitimate.
"And your biggest problem right now," she continued, her voice lower so only I could hear, "is that you won't take five minutes to check if what I'm saying about our marriage is true."
"Security!" I barked. "Remove this woman immediately!"
Two restaurant security guards appeared, looking uncomfortable.
"But sir," one started, "she's on the approved list for today's event."
My patience snapped. "I don't care if she's on a list signed by the President. Get her out. Now."
As they escorted her away, Juliana called over her shoulder, "Civil Affairs Bureau, Mr. Ricardo! It would take you five minutes!"
I turned to Raymond. "Find out who leaked my schedule to her. I want them fired by end of day."
"Yes, sir," Raymond nodded.
"And for the last time," I added through gritted teeth, "do not look into her marriage claims. It's clearly a pathetic attempt at extortion."
The rest of the lunch was a disaster. The board members kept shooting me curious glances, whispering among themselves. By the time we finished, my mood had deteriorated completely.
---
Back in my apartment that evening, I furiously updated my private story:
"Some people are just impossible. Dealing with little brats in adult bodies who refuse to face reality even when it's right in front of them. So stubborn I could scream!"
I hit post, then flopped onto my couch. My phone buzzed almost immediately—a message from "Iron Will":
"Sounds like we're having similar days. Dealing with someone who won't take no for an answer."
I smiled despite my frustration. At least someone understood me.
"People can be so aggravating," I typed back. "I'm trying to help but getting nowhere. Ever feel like you're speaking a language no one else understands?"
"Constantly," came the reply. "Though today it was more like someone speaking gibberish to me and expecting me to understand."
We continued chatting, and somehow my anger melted away. There was something comforting about Iron Will—a connection I couldn't explain. After about twenty minutes of back-and-forth, he surprised me:
"I need to see my grandmother tonight. Been putting it off too long. Your message reminded me what's important."
"That's sweet," I replied. "Family should come first."
"She's all I have left," he wrote. "Would it be too forward to ask where you live? Maybe I could stop by after seeing her? Never mind, that's inappropriate."
I hesitated, staring at my screen. We'd never met in person. This was crossing a boundary. But something about him felt so familiar, so safe.
"No, it's fine," I typed back. "I live at Riverside Apartments, Tower B, Unit 1507. Feel free to stop by if your visit with your grandmother goes well."
Only after I hit send did I realize what I'd done. I'd given my full address to a stranger from the internet.
But what were the chances he'd actually show up?