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Liam's Pov
Emma and I decided on takeout for the night—Chinese, from a small place a couple of blocks away that she swore was the best in Manhattan.
Lo mein, sesame chicken, dumplings, and enough fried rice to feed an army.
We ate in the living room, Netflix droning faintly in the background while the city lights blinked through the balcony glass.
After dinner, I packed light—one small black carry-on. Suit, casual clothes, essentials. Emma had her keys in hand before I even zipped it shut.
Her White Ford SUV was parked out front, clean as always. She took pride in that thing like it was part of her brand. I tossed my bag in the back, slid into the passenger seat, and we pulled out into the Manhattan night.
For the first few minutes, we cruised in comfortable silence, the hum of the engine filling the space. Then she broke it.
"The new game's numbers came in this morning," she said, her tone that mix of casual and electric excitement she got when business was going well. "It's… insane, Liam. The downloads, the reviews—hell, even the streamers are picking it up."
I smirked. "I told you it would blow up. The mechanics were tight, the art was addictive, and your marketing hit all the right notes."
She shot me a quick grin before focusing back on the road. "Yeah, well, apparently, I'm not the only one who thinks so. A big gaming company reached out. They're talking about buying the rights."
That caught my interest. "Straight-out purchase or licensing deal?"
"Straight-out. The figure they floated…" She shook her head slightly. "If it happens, it'll be enough capital to take the startup to the next level. New team, bigger office, international push—the works."
I leaned back, thinking. "You sound like you've already said yes."
Her laugh was soft but knowing. "I'm not stupid, Liam. Why would i say yes without counsting my Lawyer?"
"Good," I said, glancing at her. "Send me the contract when it's finalized. I'll tear it apart for you."
"You know you turn into a terminator when it comes to legal stuff, right?" she teased, smirking.
I chuckled.
She gave me that little side-eye smile of hers. "But if I end up rich and famous, I'm still not buying you that private island you keep joking about."
"Who said I'd share it with anyone?" I said, smirking as I looked out at the glowing skyline passing by.
The rest of the ride was filled with that easy back-and-forth that only came from years of friendship, the kind that didn't need effort to maintain.
We pulled up to the terminal, headlights washing over the glass and steel of the departures hall. Emma slid the SUV into a parking space without a word, killed the engine, and we both stepped out.
Inside, the air was thick with the familiar airport blend of coffee, perfume, and that faint metallic tang of recycled air. She walked with me to the terminal doors, my carry-on rolling quietly behind me.
When we stopped, she looked at me for a second—one of those steady looks that said a lot without needing to. Then she stepped forward and pulled me into a hug.
"Don't cause trouble in California," she said lightly, but her grip was tight.
I smirked over her shoulder. "No promises."
She laughed, stepping back, but stayed there watching as I headed toward the security line. I glanced back once—she was still there, hands in her jacket pockets, smiling faintly. She didn't move until I was swallowed by the crowd.
Check-in was smooth, security uneventful. The boarding gate wasn't far, and my flight was right on time.
The first-class ticket had my mother's fingerprints all over it—both literally and figuratively. I spotted the gold "First Class" printed on my boarding pass and shook my head. She never could resist going overboard when it came to me.
The seat was wide enough to make my apartment couch jealous, upholstered in soft leather that smelled expensive. A folded blanket and a plump pillow were waiting, along with a flight attendant who greeted me like I was royalty. I stowed my bag, sank into the seat, and stretched my legs just because I could.
Hot towel service, champagne before takeoff—I skipped the drink, but the gesture wasn't lost on me. The cabin lights dimmed to a warm glow as we taxied out, and I let the low hum of the engines settle over me.
Somewhere between the first sip of hot coffee and the flight attendant offering me a dinner menu I didn't bother opening, my eyes grew heavy. The seat reclined into a bed with a single button press, and I let myself sink into it.
By the time we were stable in the air, I was already asleep, the world fading behind the steady thrum of the engines.
The plane touched down at 3:47 a.m. California time, the muted roar of the engines fading into the early morning stillness as the cabin lights gradually brightened.
I stretched my legs in the plush first-class seat, feeling the comfort of the leather and the space around me, a stark contrast to the cramped economy seats I'd once been accustomed to.
Grabbing my carry-on bag, I stood and made my way through the quiet, sprawling terminal but didn't forget to get some chocolates from the Duty free store, the low hum of late-night airport activity filling the air.
Outside, the cool Los Angeles night air brushed against my face, sharp and refreshing after hours spent in the recycled atmosphere of the plane. The taxi stand was nearly empty, a handful of drivers nursing their final shifts. I spotted a tired-looking Crown Victoria idling by the curb and slid into the back seat without hesitation.
"North Los Robles Avenue.," I said, settling back as the driver pulled away from the curb. The familiar city lights flickered past the window, blurring into streaks of orange and white.
For a moment, silence settled between us, the city's nocturnal rhythm the only sound. Then, while looking outside I asked in my mind, 'Eve, sometimes I think about how odd this all is—two apartments, an expensive lifestyle, and me supposedly just starting out in this new body. How does it all add up?'
Her voice, smooth and unruffled as always, responded through my inner ear, "Your freelance legal work supplements your income considerably. The heavy workload you manage—small business contracts, startup consultations, and various legal advisories—adds up through volume."
I sighed softly, letting my mind wander back over the past months and years—the late nights and early mornings I'd spent juggling law school studies and freelance work. Unlike most students who could barely manage their coursework, I'd taken on the burden of side clients with relentless determination.
It hadn't been easy. I remembered the nights when sleep was a forgotten luxury, my eyes burning from staring at contract drafts and case notes on the screen.
The pressure to respond quickly, the responsibility of providing sound advice to businesses on the edge of collapse, the nervous phone calls from startup founders desperate for guidance—all of it had demanded every ounce of my focus and intellect but it seemed like I had a knack for it.
For every complex legal problem that would stall others, I found a way through. I'd mastered the art of cutting through jargon and bureaucracy to deliver clear, actionable solutions. Clients were surprised by how fast I could turn around documents, how thoroughly I prepared arguments, and how accessible I was despite the workload.
'I was not just working hard,' I told Eve, 'It seemed like I was working smart. Most law students couldn't handle this load. It's about volume and efficiency. Every satisfied client means referrals, and every referral means more work and connections.'
"Yes," Eve affirmed. "Your network grows alongside your finances. You have built a valuable reputation through persistence and intellect."
The taxi slowed, turning onto a quiet, tree-lined street. The driver pulled up in front of a five-story brick building with a faded green awning and a rusted mailbox by the entrance. The cracked concrete steps creaked beneath my boots, the smell of fresh rain lingering in the air.
I handed the driver a generous tip, watching the surprise flicker in his tired eyes. "Generosity is wise," Eve commented lightly.
I chuckled as I made my way up the stairs, the old elevator still out of order, forcing me to rely on the familiar, worn staircase. Halfway up, I paused outside apartment 4A and smiled to myself.
"Cooper and Leonard, right from The Big Bang Theory." I muttered.
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