Val's P.O.V

The CollabHouse building, a sleek spear of glass and steel, glinted in the morning sun. Unlike our first nervous approach days ago, today we spilled out of Brielle’s convertible with a sense of ownership. I led the way, the signed contract folder feeling less like a document and more like a scepter.

The receptionist, the same impeccably dressed woman from before, looked up with a practiced smile that turned genuine as recognition dawned. “Ms. Val! Good morning.”

“Good ...