Insight of a Kenyan Girl

She had one job tonight—secure the signature of an elusive author JLP Publishing had been chasing for months. Nathaniel Pierce was notorious: rude, egotistical, and quick-tempered. Every other editor had failed to get through to him. She was their last shot.

Choosing Mystique as the meeting venue had been a strategic decision. The club’s moody ambiance, the soft hum of jazz, the dim glow of golden lights—it all had a way of making people let their guard down. Maybe it would work in her favor.

Dressed in a flowing dress, heels clicking softly against the pavement, she stepped inside. The club was still waking up for the night, the crowd sparse. She nodded at the bouncer, offering a polite smile as he let her in.

At the bar, she spotted the familiar tattooed bartender. She was about to greet him when a hand landed lightly on her back.

“Hi, gorgeous. Remember me?” a sultry voice murmured.

She turned, startled, locking eyes with a woman whose presence sent a ripple of unease through her. “It’s you?”

The woman smirked. “I’m happy you remember me. Thanks for the dance last time.”

She shifted, uneasy. “No problem, I guess?”

The woman chuckled, tilting her head. “You don’t seem like the clubbing type. What brings you here tonight?”

Before she could answer, another voice cut in.

“I assume you’re the editor they sent this time?” The deep, slightly irritated voice belonged to a tall man with piercing blue eyes and an air of arrogance.

She turned. “And you must be—”

“Nathaniel Pierce,” he finished, sizing her up. “Let’s get this over with.”

Suppressing a sigh, she followed him to a quiet booth. He ordered whiskey, she asked for water. Between them, the contract lay untouched, its presence heavy.

“So, tell me,” Nathaniel mused, swirling his drink, “what makes you think you can convince me?”

She met his gaze, unwavering. “I don’t need to convince you. I just need you to see that this is the best deal you’ll get.”

He smirked. “Confident. I like that.”

The negotiation played out like a dance—his sharp retorts, her measured counterpoints. He challenged, she held her ground. Somewhere between arrogance and intrigue, he relented.

“Alright, let’s do this. Hand me a pen.”

She slid it across the table, and he signed with a flourish. Without hesitation, she added her own signature, sealing the deal.

At the bar, the woman from earlier leaned against the counter, watching intently. Beside her, a man with slicked-back hair swirled his drink, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“She doesn’t even know what she’s done,” the woman murmured.

The man chuckled. “Not yet. But she will.”

Gathering her things, she made her way toward the exit, exhaustion settling in. Outside, the night air was crisp. She stepped forward—and stumbled. Her ankle twisted on the uneven pavement, sending her forward.

A firm hand caught hers before she could fall.

“Careful there, Tilly,” a familiar voice murmured.

Her breath hitched. She looked up. The woman from earlier.

What sent a chill down her spine wasn’t the touch—it was the name.

She hadn’t told her.

“Wouldn’t want you hurting yourself now…” The woman’s smirk deepened. “Not yet, anyway.”

Tilly steadied herself, heart pounding. “How do you—”

But before she could finish, the woman slipped into the shadows, vanishing like she had never been there.

A strange unease gripped Tilly as she reached her car. Something about tonight—the contract, the woman, this entire encounter—

It all felt wrong.

Her phone buzzed.

A message. Unknown number.

“See you soon, Tilly.”

Her breath hitched.

She wasn’t alone.