Damn this “southern return weather”! Mike swore under his breath.

The subtropical humidity felt like an invisible hand pressed over his mouth and nose. The air clung to his skin like wet cotton, his clothes never fully dry, his shoes forever damp. Even the walls seemed to sweat. Mike felt like a loaf of bread about to grow mold. Thankfully, Bear had booked a three-star hotel with decent air-conditioning. Without it, Mike was convinced he’d be sprouting mushrooms by now.

The daytime meeting with the client had been a disaster.

Their competitors were locals with every advantage—language, habits, even the subtle unspoken rules of the region. Around the conference table, the preparatory office engineers smiled and joked in the local dialect, as if Mike and Randy were just outsiders watching from the side. Everything Mike and Randy said was politely set aside. The gifts they had carefully prepared went unused, tucked back into their bags on the silent ride to the hotel. Mike felt like he had swallowed a lump of thunder that refused to break.

Two beds stood in the cool hotel room.

Mike lay on the one by the window, hands behind his head, legs crossed, staring at the ceiling. “With competition like this, we’re doomed,” he sighed.

Randy only grinned, as if the day’s humiliation had slid right off him. “Hey, nothing’s set in stone. We’ll stay put, take our chances. Maybe we’ll get a break.”

“A break?” Mike rolled over to glare at him. “They won’t even give us their phone numbers. What chance do we have—invite them out for drinks and karaoke?”

“Don’t think so far ahead. First rule is—make yourself comfortable.” Randy struck a match, lit a cigarette, and blew out a lazy cloud of smoke. “We’re not here to crush the competition. All we need is to make the shortlist. Whether we actually win depends on the head office and the tender committee.”

Mike let out a dry laugh. “Nothing’s impossible if you lower your standards enough. Fine—let’s stay here a month and see what happens.”

Randy smirked. “Now you’re talking. Plan B is set, time to plan our lives. No point suffering unnecessarily.”

Just then, the room phone rang.

Randy snatched it up. “Fonda? You’re here? Damn, today was brutal. I was just about to call you. Perfect timing—come on up, I’ve got a northern hunk for you to meet. Tall, broad-shouldered, stamina for days—ha!”

He hung up and grinned wickedly. “My special guest is here. Get dressed. We’re going downstairs for dinner. I promise—you won’t want to leave once you see her.”

Mike sat up, half-amused, half-skeptical. “You just want to show off. Fine, I’ll look. But no promises.”

“Look? What’s the fun in just looking?” Randy winked. “Real brothers share.”

Mike snorted. “You talk big, but when it comes down to it, you’re always first in line.”

The hotel lobby’s cool air washed over them as they stepped out, clearing away the sticky heat. Mike followed Randy absent-mindedly, until his gaze snagged on a flash of aqua green.

She stood by the lobby sofa like a breath of cool wind.

The aqua-green dress hugged her slender frame, the fabric so soft it seemed to ripple like water. Her skin glowed with the smooth radiance of polished jade, her deep-flaxen hair brushing her shoulders. Her slightly upturned eyes held an effortless charm. She smiled at them, nodding in greeting, and in that moment her light brown eyes seemed to catch starlight.

Something in Mike’s chest loosened.

He straightened unconsciously, shaking off the slump of defeat he’d been carrying since the meeting.

“This is Fonda,” Randy said proudly. “See? I told you I wasn’t lying.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Fonda said, extending her hand with a warm smile.

Mike hesitated a beat before taking it. “Likewise. Are you local? I don’t hear any accent.”

“I am. But I went to school up north, and my job’s on the phone all day—any accent I had is long gone.”

“Enough chit-chat. I’m starving.” Randy cut in, leading the way upstairs.

The hotel restaurant on the second floor was quiet, bathed in warm light, with a faint woody scent in the air. They chose a window table, and soon the table filled with local specialties—steamed fish, poached chicken, fragrant stir-fried greens. Randy served Fonda a piece of fish belly with a grin. “Your favorite.”

“Thanks, Randy.” She smiled, her tone soft but assured.

She ate with calm, deliberate movements—elegant, unhurried. Watching her, Mike felt a strange stillness settle over him, as though the day’s irritations were being quietly smoothed away.

“Don’t believe Randy’s hype,” Mike said with a wry grin. “I’m no northern macho man—just another worker getting squeezed dry by clients.”

Fonda laughed softly, her gaze meeting his for a second longer than necessary. “You northerners do seem taller. Is this your first time here? Getting used to it?”

“Getting used to it? Not even close. This weather feels like it’s pickling me alive.”

“Drink more herbal tea. It helps,” she said, her voice as gentle as a warm breeze.

Randy watched them chatting and broke in with a chuckle. “See? Fonda likes to take things slow. We should too. Bosses want things done yesterday, but we’re in no rush.”

As he spoke, his arm rested casually along the back of Fonda’s chair—a subtle but unmistakable gesture of claim.

Mike looked down into his soup, hiding the flicker of emotion in his eyes. Was that jealousy? Or irritation? He wasn’t sure, but he hated how natural Randy looked with her.

“Let’s go sing,” Fonda said suddenly, glancing at her watch. Her smile brightened.

“Hell yes! Mike here sings like Pavarotti. One note and the whole place will cry.” Randy slapped the table, laughing.

Mike shook his head but felt a spark of anticipation light in his chest.

Soon Fonda’s friend arrived. She was a girl with healthy, sun-kissed skin, a bright, ready smile, and lively dark eyes—the very picture of Malay beauty. Her name was Lea.

She wore a neat business suit and looked about twenty-three or twenty-four. Her wheat-colored skin glowed with a warm, healthy radiance. Her oval face framed those shining black eyes—clear as mountain spring water, full of curiosity and life. Her jet-black hair was pulled back into a tidy bun, revealing a smooth forehead and elegant neck. Her accent was thick but musical, her voice as bright and clear as a mountain stream.

“Lea, you just got off work? Have you eaten?” Fonda asked.

“I have. This hotel is basically my cafeteria,” Lea replied with a grin.

“Lea’s the hotel’s front desk manager,” Fonda explained. “The discounts on your rooms? All thanks to her.”

“Mike,” he said, extending his hand. “Thanks for helping us out.”

“Randy,” his colleague added, shaking her hand too.

“Big Bear, still cracking jokes?” Lea rolled her eyes with a smile.

“I’ll take you to the hotel’s best KTV,” she said cheerfully. “Fruit platters are free, but bring your own drinks unless you want to spend a fortune.”

Mike caught himself smiling for the first time all day