The Bad Tenant Ch. 04

Jess lay across the couch, bare feet propped on the armrest as the TV droned on in the background. The clock on the wall ticked away, each second stretching into eternity. 7:07 PM in Texas. 5:07 PM in California. Tom would still be trapped in meetings for at least another hour, probably more.

She thumbed through her phone, scanning their most recent text exchange:

Tom: "This project is a mess. I miss you."

Jess: "Miss you too. How's the hotel?"

Tom: "Decent. Room service sucks though.

Jess: "Want me to FedEx you some real food?"

Tom: "God I wish. I'd give anything to be home with you right now."

Jess: "Even your promotion?"

Tom: "Ouch."

Jess: "Sorry. That wasn't fair."

Tom: "No, you're right. I'm so sorry about missing your party. I'll make it up to you, I swear."

Jess: "I know. Go save the day."

She tossed the phone aside, frustration bubbling beneath her skin. She should work on the Skyline designs, but motivation eluded her. Instead, her mind drifted to Friday's party, to the emerald dress hanging in their closet, to the career milestone she'd be celebrating alone.

The resentment simmered fresh in her chest, refusing to dull. Jess still hadn't fully forgiven Tom for dropping the San Diego work crisis on her with no notice, right after she'd come home glowing from dress shopping, ready to show him the emerald green knockout she'd splurged on.

She'd spent weeks looking forward to celebrating together, picturing him beaming at her at the Skyline party. Instead, all that anticipation had soured into an empty house and a calendar marked by his absence. She knew the promotion was important. She knew their future depended on it. But knowledge didn't blunt the sting of feeling like an afterthought, again.

Her phone buzzed. Madi's name flashed on the screen.

Madi: "I need DETAILS. How'd Tom lose his shit over that dress? I bet he couldn't keep his hands off you!"

Jess's fingers hovered over the keys. She didn't want to deal with Madi's reaction, but lying felt worse.

Jess: "He's in San Diego. Some work emergency. He won't be back till Saturday."

The response was instantaneous:

Madi: "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?"

Madi: "Please tell me you're joking."

Madi: "He's seriously missing your party? For work???"

Jess: "It's a big deal. This project could mean his promotion."

Madi: "This is YOUR moment. He should be here supporting you."

Madi: "I swear to god, I'm going to text that workaholic husband of yours and give him a piece of my mind."

Jess sat up straighter, panic flaring.

Jess: "Madi don't. Please. He already feels terrible about it."

Madi: "He SHOULD feel terrible. This is fucked up, Jess."

Jess: "I know. But it's complicated. Just leave it alone, okay?"

There was a long pause before Madi replied:

Madi: "Fine. But only because you asked. You're still wearing that dress to the party right?"

Jess glanced toward the bedroom.

Jess: "I don't know. Maybe I'll wear that black sheath dress? New one feels too fancy without Tom."

Madi: "Don't you dare. You are wearing that dress."

Jess: "I don't know."

Madi: "Jessica Marshall. You are wearing that dress if I have to come over there and put you into it myself. Tom's absence does NOT diminish your accomplishment. You're going to that party, you're going to look smoking hot, and you're going to network your ass off. Got it?"

Despite herself, Jess smiled. Madi's fierce loyalty was both touching and slightly terrifying.

Jess: "Okay. You win. I'll wear the dress."

Madi: "Damn straight. Now tell me you're not just moping around the house."

Jess glanced guiltily at the TV.

Jess: "I might be."

Madi: "Go for a run or something. Get those endorphins flowing. You can't just sit there feeling sorry for yourself."

Jess: "You're right."

Madi: "Good. Do something other than stare at your phone. Love you!"

"Love you too," Jess typed back, then tossed her phone aside.

With a groan, she hauled herself off the couch. Staying still was driving her crazy. She moved to the kitchen, opening cabinets, reorganizing spices that didn't need reorganizing. Anything to keep her hands busy, to quiet the restless energy thrumming through her veins.

Her mind again drifted to the Skyline project she'd poured her heart and soul into. She remembered the way Chris Webb's eyes had lit up when she'd unveiled the designs.

This was her moment, dammit. She'd earned it, but now, at the moment of her triumph, she'd be attending alone. No Tom to squeeze her hand reassuringly. No Tom to charm the investors with his easy smile and quick wit. No Tom to celebrate with afterward, to peel that gorgeous emerald green dress off her body and make her feel like the most desirable woman in the world.

She slammed a cabinet door harder than necessary, the sound echoing through the empty house.

She took a deep breath. Madi was right. As much as Tom's absence hurt, it did not diminish her accomplishment. She was more than just Tom Marshall's wife. She was Jessica Marshall, up-and-coming interior designer.

With renewed determination, she marched to the bedroom. The dress beckoned, its fabric shimmering under the soft lighting in the closet. She ran her fingers over the material.

She was going to wear this dress, and she was going to own that party. Let them see her confidence, her talent, her undeniable presence. Let them remember her name.

Her phone buzzed again. She expected another text from Madi, but Tom's name flashed on the screen instead.

Tom: "You free to talk?"

Jess stared at the screen. She wanted to deny him, to flip her phone over and let him wonder, let him stew in silence. But her body betrayed her. Her heart leapt at his name, her skin prickled with that raw, stupid longing. She needed to hear his voice.

Jess: "Yeah. Call me."

Seconds later, her phone rang. She answered on the second ring.

"Hey," Tom's voice was warm, if slightly hesitant.

"Hi," Jess replied, settling onto the bed. "Long day?"

Tom groaned. "You have no idea. This whole system is held together with duct tape and prayer. I swear, every time we fix one thing, three more problems pop up."

"Sounds rough," Jess said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. She didn't want to hear about his work troubles. Not when those same troubles were keeping him from her.

"Yeah, it's... wait. Are you doing okay?"

Jess sighed. Even hundreds of miles away, he could read her too well. "I'm fine. Just... lonely, I guess. The house feels big without you here." She paused. "And I'm nervous about Friday."

"I know, baby. I'm so sorry. I hate this. I should be there with you."

"You should," Jess agreed, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping into her tone.

Tom was quiet for a brief moment. When he spoke again, his voice was heavy with regret. "I know. Believe me, I know. I've been beating myself up about it all day. You deserve better than this."

"I'm not trying to make you feel guilty," Jess said, though part of her was glad he understood what he was missing. "I just... I wish you were here."

"Me too," Tom replied softly. "Guess who texted me."

Jess's brow furrowed. "Who?"

"Madi. I swear, that woman's a bloodhound when she's on a mission."

Jess couldn't help but snort. "Oh God, what did she say?"

Tom grinned, voice warming. "Just the classics. 'Don't you dare let Jess down. She's got this big moment Friday and she deserves someone cheering her on.' Stuff like that. She said I should send flowers, or better yet, fly back for the party."

Jess chuckled softly. "I told her not to text you."

"It wasn't that bad. Hell, for Madi, I got off easy. She didn't even threaten to drop spiders in my bed or superglue my car doors shut."

Jess smiled. "That was probably her toned down version. You should've seen the earlier texts she sent me. She was ready to storm into your office and drag you home."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. I'm just glad she didn't go full scorched earth."

Jess shook her head, letting her grin steal the heaviness from her mood. "I swear, she's more invested in our marriage than we are."

"She's just protective of you." Tom softened toward her laugh. "Can't say I blame her."

"She means well," Jess said. "I'll admit, though, her outrage was kind of comforting. She always has my back."

"I'm glad she does... you deserve that, Jess. People who always have your back. You've got her... and me."

"Thank you, Tom." Jess let the words rest there. Before she could push further, her thoughts jarred by a knock at the door.

"Someone's at the door," Jess said. She glanced at the clock. 7:38 PM. Who would be knocking this late?

"Probably just a delivery or something," Tom said. "You should get it though. I need to hop in the shower anyway. Early meeting tomorrow."

Jess nodded. "Okay. Call me tomorrow?"

"First chance I get," Tom promised. "I love you, Jess. More than anything."

"I love you too," she replied.

The call ended, leaving Jess alone once more. The knock came again.

"Coming!" she called out, scrambling off the bed. She gave herself a quick once-over in the mirror. The t-shirt hung to mid-thigh, preserving her modesty. Barely. But it would have to do.

She padded down the stairs, her bare feet silent against the hardwood. The porch light illuminated a broad silhouette through the frosted glass of their front door. She knew that build anywhere. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

---

Bob Caldwell stood in his kitchen nursing a beer while he unpacked the delivery that had arrived that afternoon. The chrome faucets, one for the kitchen and one for the bathroom, represented more than just plumbing fixtures. They were his ticket upstairs. His means of access.

He set his beer down and ran his fingers over the smooth curves of the kitchen faucet. High end shit. Barely cost him anything thanks to his connections, but worth every fucking cent he would have paid retail. The manufacturer owed him a favor after Bob had smoothed over some issues with faulty installations a few years back. Now those favors were paying off in ways Bob could never have imagined.

As he admired the quality, his mind drifted back to Saturday night, to the shadowy figure he'd glimpsed outside his window while pleasuring himself to Jessica Marshall's photos. He'd taken a huge risk, stroking his cock right there in plain view of the window. The silhouette had been unmistakably masculine, too tall and broad shouldered to be Jess. It had to have been Tom.

The next day, Bob had braced for some kind of confrontation. A bang on the door, an awkward conversation, maybe even threats of eviction. But instead, both Tom and Jess acted as if nothing had happened. Not a word, not even a sideways glance. Just complicit, knowing silence. The pieces fit together like a twisted puzzle.

Tom, that spineless fuck, had seen everything and chosen to stay silent. Whether out of fear, shame, or some twisted desire, he'd decided to let it slide. And that silence spoke volumes.

"A fucking cuckold," Bob muttered, nearly laughing. It was the only explanation that made sense. Tom's silent witnessing was tantamount to permission, an acknowledgment of the power dynamic already forming between them.

This changed things. Bob's strategy had initially centered on stealth and manipulation, gradually worming his way into Jess' life through a combination of calculated kindness and strategic home improvements. He'd planned to become indispensable, the reliable handyman always ready with a solution, slowly building trust over time.

But now? He saw a more direct path, a shortcut to his ultimate goal. Tom's perverse desires could be weaponized, used to gain legitimate access to Jess with her husband's blessing. He could potentially engineer scenarios where Tom would willingly step aside, perhaps even encourage Jess toward Bob's waiting arms.

If he was right about Tom, this game would evolve to something far more interesting, something where Tom would eventually hand over the keys to his kingdom, believing it was his idea all along.

Bob's mind raced with the possibilities this revelation opened up. He'd always known that his most reliable weapon hung between his legs, that magnificent cock that rarely disappointed. It was the kind of equipment that made women's eyes widen in shock before they inevitably became addicted to the fullness. Now Tom Marshall had witnessed exactly what his wife would be up against.

And at this very moment, that wife was up there all alone. Tom's Lexus might be in the driveway, but Bob knew better. He'd seen the man leave with a suitcase before dawn, had watched from behind his blinds as Jess drove him somewhere. Airport, most likely.

Bob's cock stirred at the thought of Jess' gorgeous fucking body, a masterpiece of femininity that deserved to be worshipped. She was the kind of woman men would have started wars over in the old days. A modern-day Helen of Troy, with those endless legs and perky tits that made his mouth water.

Bob sneered, imagining Tom's pathetic attempts to satisfy a woman like Jess. That pretty boy probably fumbled around like a virgin, too afraid to really give it to her the way she needed. Jess deserved a man who could handle her, not some limp dicked corporate drone who probably came in his pants just looking at her. She was a Ferrari being driven by someone who couldn't handle more than a Prius.

Bob had caught Jess looking at him a few times. Nothing in those looks remotely suggested attraction. More like assessment. Wariness, maybe. The way you might look at a strange dog, wondering if it bites. She was polite but there was always that careful distance. The way she'd angle her body slightly away from him during conversations, the way she'd maintain that extra foot of space between them. It was clear she didn't trust him yet, didn't see him as anything more than the old man living downstairs.

This realization tempered Bob's excitement somewhat. As much as he wanted to charge full steam ahead with his new, more aggressive strategy, he knew he needed to tread carefully. The revelation about Tom's voyeuristic tendencies opened up new possibilities, but it didn't change the fundamental fact that Jess was still wary of him. Rushing things now could backfire spectacularly, potentially ruining everything.

No, Bob realized, he needed to stick to his original plan, at least for now. He needed to build trust first, to become a fixture in their lives, to make himself truly indispensable. The faucets were a good start, a way to show his value, to get his foot in the door. But it would take time and patience to fully ingratiate himself into their world.

This didn't mean he had to be entirely passive, though. While he worked on gaining Jess's trust, he could still find other ways to satisfy his needs. Hidden cameras, for instance. Small, wireless, easy to hide. One for the bedroom, one for the bathroom. Positioned just right, they'd give him everything he wanted. The possibilities were endless. Bob grinned, imagining the hours of footage he'd collect, a front-row seat to Jess's most private moments.

And sometimes, in his own darkest moments, he wondered what would happen if he just took what he wanted and forced himself inside her. She was strong for her size, probably. He'd seen her in those yoga pants, knew she worked out, but he had close to two hundred pounds on her. She wouldn't stand a chance.

But no. Too risky, too messy. He wasn't stupid and he didn't want to spend time inside a prison cell. He'd worked too hard, come too far to throw it all away on one moment of brutal satisfaction. Besides, he was playing a longer game here.

Bob looked at his watch. Just past seven-thirty. Not too late to knock on their door, especially if he had a legitimate reason. He picked up the faucets and their accompanying parts, arranging them carefully in his toolbox.

A minute later, he stood at their front door, knocking firmly.

When Jess opened the door, Bob had to force his expression to remain neutral. She stood there in an oversized t-shirt that barely reached mid thigh, leaving those long, tanned legs exposed. Her blonde hair was slightly mussed, her face free of makeup. Even like this, especially like this, she was absolutely stunning.

"Bob," she said, surprise evident in her voice. Her hand moved instinctively to the hem of the shirt, tugging it down slightly. "Is everything okay?"

"Evening, Jess," he replied, keeping his eyes firmly on her face despite every instinct screaming at him to look lower. "Sorry to bother you so late. Those faucets we talked about finally arrived." He hefted his toolbox slightly. "Thought maybe I could get a head start on installing them. Shouldn't take more than an hour each."

Jess hesitated, one hand still gripping the doorframe. "Oh, I don't know if tonight is-"

"No pressure," Bob said quickly, adopting his most harmless expression. "Just figured since I had the time now... but if it's not convenient, I can come back another day."

He watched the conflict play out across her face. The polite hostess warring with the cautious woman home alone. In the end, politeness won out.

"I guess it would be good to get them installed. Tom's away on a business trip, so it's just me."

Just as he suspected.

"Oh?" Bob feigned surprise. "I saw his car in the driveway."

"He flew to San Diego this morning," Jess explained, stepping back to let him in. "I drove him to the airport. He won't be back until Saturday."

"Ah, that explains it." Bob stepped inside, careful to maintain a respectful distance as he followed her up the stairs. "Business trips can be a real pain. Sarah used to hate when I had to be away for work."

"It's not ideal," Jess agreed. "So, where do you want to start?" Jess asked when they reached the top of the stairs. "Kitchen or bathroom?"

"Might as well tackle the kitchen first. That way, if we run into any issues, you'll still have water for your morning shower."

Jess smiled, and Bob felt a surge of satisfaction. He was good at this, at putting people at ease. It was a skill he'd honed over decades of manipulating clients, ex-wives, and now, unsuspecting landlords.

"Let me just change quickly," Jess said, acutely aware of her state of undress. "Make yourself comfortable in the kitchen. I'll be right back."

Bob watched her move to the bedroom, his eyes fixed on the sway of her hips beneath the thin cotton. The t-shirt rode up slightly as she walked, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of the curve where thigh met ass.

In the kitchen, Bob set down his toolbox and began arranging his tools.

When Jess returned a few minutes later, she'd put on yoga pants. Still hot as hell, but less immediately provocative than before.

"Can I get you something to drink before you start? Water? Beer?" she asked.

"Water's fine," Bob replied. "Don't want to be operating tools after a cold one, you know?"

Jess laughed, a light, musical sound that sent shivers down Bob's spine. His mind drifted to his past as he watched Jess bend over to grab a bottle from the bottom of the fridge. When he'd met Sarah all those years ago, he'd thought he'd hit the goddamn jackpot. She was blonde, pretty, with a decent body, the kind of girl who turned heads at the local bar. But Jess was on a whole other fucking level.

Where Sarah had been attractive, Jess was breathtaking. It was almost hard to believe a woman like her existed outside of runways and magazine covers, let alone lived a normal life with some pencil pushing husband. Bob had been around a few beautiful women in his day, but he'd never encountered anything close to Jess. She was a rare breed, checking every single box physically while radiating an aura of effortless sensuality. Just being in her presence felt intoxicating, like huffing pure pheromones. Bob knew with absolute certainty that he'd never get another chance at a woman like this. Jess was a once in a lifetime prize and he was determined to claim her by any means necessary.

"Here you go," Jess said, handing him the water. Bob accepted it with a nod of thanks, careful to keep his expression neutral despite the raging hard on hidden beneath his pants.

"Mind if I get started?" he asked, gesturing toward the sink.

"Of course not," Jess replied. "Do you need me to do anything?"

Bob considered for a moment. Having her close would be torture, but it was too tempting to pass up. "Actually, if you could hand me tools as I need them, it'd speed things up quite a bit."

Jess nodded. "Sure thing. Just tell me what you need."

For the next forty-five minutes, Bob worked efficiently, occasionally asking Jess to hand him a wrench or hold a flashlight. He kept up a steady stream of conversation. She responded readily, clearly warming to his friendly demeanor.

"So, what's on the agenda while Tom's away?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled from his position under the sink. "Taking advantage of having the house to yourself?"

Jess leaned against the counter, just visible from his vantage point. "Not really. Mostly work. I have a big company party on Friday night to celebrate a new project. My team designed the penthouse interiors. The client loved our presentation, so the firm's hosting this launch party with potential investors."

"Impressive," Bob said, meaning it. "You must be excited."

"I was more excited when Tom was going to be there," she admitted. "But yes, it's a big deal for my career."

Bob emerged from under the sink, wiping his hands on a rag. "He's missing your big night? That's a shame."

"It couldn't be helped," Jess said quickly. "The project in San Diego is important too. It could mean a promotion."

"Still," Bob said, shaking his head sympathetically. "Must be disappointing."

Jess didn't respond, but her silence spoke volumes. Bob suppressed a smile as he returned to work.

Possible cracks in the marriage. Excellent.

As Bob finished installing the kitchen faucet, he guided Jess through testing it. "Go ahead, turn it on," he instructed. "Let's make sure there are no leaks."

Jess stepped closer, reaching past him to turn the handle.

"Looks good," he said as water flowed smoothly from the new fixture. "No leaks. Want to try the spray function?"

Jess pressed the button, and the water stream changed to a powerful spray. "Oh!" she exclaimed, genuinely pleased. "That's so much better than the old one."

"Quality makes a difference," Bob nodded. "Bathroom next?"

"Sure," she said. "This way."

"Hey, Jess," Bob said as they made their way to the master bathroom. "Quick question for you. That spare room downstairs, what did you folks use it for before I moved in?"

Jess shrugged. "Honestly? Not much. It was mostly just storage. We never really spent time down there. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious," he said casually. "Been thinking about how to make better use of the space. Maybe set up a small workshop or something." He paused, then added with a chuckle, "Though I gotta admit, it's a bit creepy down there at night. Thought I saw a shadow moving outside the window Saturday night. Wondered if maybe one of you come back down to the yard."

Jess' brow furrowed. "That's odd." She paused, then added, "Oh, wait. Tom did go out to the backyard that night after dinner. I asked him to grab the stuff we'd left outside. Maybe that's what you saw?"

"Probably nothing," Bob shrugged. "Just my imagination. Getting old makes you paranoid, I guess."

Inwardly, Bob felt a surge of satisfaction. Jess had just confirmed what he'd already suspected.

In the master bathroom, Bob's excitement intensified. This was their most private space, where Jess showered, where she stood naked before the mirror.

"So, tell me more about this party," Bob said as he worked beneath the sink.

Jess' face lit up. "The project is huge, and there'll be so many important people there. Potential clients, investors..."

Bob wiped sweat from his brow. "You nervous?"

Jess bit her lip. "A little," she admitted. "I mean, I know my work is good. It's just... I've never had to network like this on my own before. Tom's always been there, you know? He's so good at working a room."

Bob nodded sympathetically. "I get it. But hey, from what I've seen of your work downstairs, you've got nothing to worry about. You're talented as hell, Jess. And if you don't mind me saying, you're not exactly hard on the eyes either. Those suits won't know what hit 'em."

Jess blushed. "Bob! You're terrible."

"Just stating facts," Bob said with a chuckle. "Now, hand me that wrench, would you?"

As he worked, Bob surveyed the bathroom, mentally noting potential camera locations. His cock throbbed at the thoughts. He shifted, trying to conceal his arousal.

"Everything okay?" Jess asked, noticing his movement.

"Fine," Bob grunted. "Just trying to get a better angle on this connector."

The bathroom faucet took a bit longer, but eventually Bob had it installed and functioning. He guided Jess through testing it, standing behind her as she turned the handles.

"Smooth," she commented, running her fingers under the water stream. "And it matches the fixtures better than the old one."

"Good eye," Bob nodded. "Not everyone notices those details."

"Interior designer," Jess reminded him with a small smile. "Details are my job."

As they made their way back to the kitchen, Bob kept the conversation flowing, asking about the challenges of the Skyline project. Jess responded with animation, clearly passionate about her work. This was how he'd gain her trust, by showing genuine interest, by listening, by positioning himself as a safe, supportive presence in her life.

"Well, that should do it," Bob announced, packing his tools back into his box. "Two new faucets, all installed and functioning."

"Thank you so much," Jess said, genuinely grateful. "They look fantastic. How much do we owe you for them?"

Bob waved her off. "My connections, remember? These were practically free."

"Still," Jess insisted, "at least let me pay you for your time."

"Nonsense," Bob smiled. "That's what neighbors are for. Besides, gives me something to do besides sitting around watching TV."

Downstairs, Bob paused, turning to Jess. "Listen, if you need anything while Tom's away, help around the house, someone to check in, don't hesitate to knock. I'm right here."

"I appreciate that," Jess said politely. "But I'll be fine."

"Course you will," Bob nodded. "But the offer's there. Goodnight, Jess."

"Goodnight, Bob. And thanks again for the faucets."

He glanced toward the main exit, then back at the connecting laundry room. A split-second decision formed in his mind. He needed to establish this route as normal, to make his presence in this part of the house unremarkable.

"Oh, Jess?" he said. "Mind if I cut through the laundry room? Save me a trip around the house."

Jess hesitated for a moment, her eyes flicking between Bob and the laundry room door. "Sure," she said finally. "Go ahead. You know the way."

Bob smiled to himself as he pushed open the laundry room door. His eyes swept the room, and there, in the corner, sat a laundry basket. Full. Bob glanced toward the door leading back to the main house, listening carefully. Jess was back upstairs. He could hear her faint movements.

Moving quickly, Bob rifled through the basket. Mostly Tom's work shirts, a few towels, some of Jess' casual clothes. And then, jackpot. A pair of black lace panties. Without hesitation, Bob shoved them into his pocket, his heart racing at the transgression.

Back in his unit, Bob locked the door behind him and leaned against it. He withdrew the stolen panties from his pocket, holding them up to the light. They were even sexier than he'd imagined. Sheer black lace with a tiny bow at the front.

He pressed the panties to his face, inhaling deeply, letting Jess' scent flood his senses. His nostrils flared as he breathed in again, more urgently this time, desperate to capture every nuance.

Bob then made a beeline to his desk, booting up his laptop. He navigated to a series of specialized forums. Here, in the darker corners of the internet, he could find what he needed without raising suspicion. Tiny cameras, virtually undetectable, capable of transmitting clear video and audio directly to his devices.

He logged in under his usual username: ShadowWatcher69. The irony wasn't lost on him.

As he scrolled through the latest posts, Bob slipped Jess' panties into his mouth. The flavor exploded across his palate; tangy, slightly salty, with an underlying sweetness that made his head spin. He sucked greedily at the fabric, imagining it was her swollen clit between his lips instead. His cock throbbed as he imagined burying his face between her thighs, tasting her directly from the source.

He opened a bookmarked thread titled: "Best Hidden Cams: Ultimate Guide"

The post was comprehensive, detailing various models, their strengths and weaknesses, optimal placement strategies. He took mental notes, already picturing where each camera would go.

He opened another tab, navigating to a specialized electronics site. He selected his arsenal: a tiny pinhole camera designed to fit into bathroom vents, and a smoke detector with a built-in HD camera, perfect for full coverage of the bed. He added a high-capacity external hard drive to his cart, knowing he'd need ample storage for the treasure trove of footage he'd soon possess.

He imagined the footage he'd collect. Jess in the shower, water dripping down her naked body, soap suds sliding between her breasts and down her flat stomach. Tom's pathetic attempts to satisfy her, his wife's face a mask of fake pleasure. And the holy grail, Jess alone, fingers buried in her cunt, pleasuring herself to fantasies Bob could only imagine.

Bob's finger hovered over the "Confirm Order" button, his cock already throbbing against his zipper. The estimated delivery time made his jaw clench. 3-5 business days. Too fucking long. He slammed his fist against the desk, cursing under his breath. The thought of Jess moving through her home above him unobserved, made him ache with frustration. But that forced patience would make his eventual victory that much sweeter. Soon enough, he'd have eyes and ears in their most intimate spaces. Jessica wouldn't be able to piss without him watching, wouldn't be able to whisper a word without him hearing it.

He confirmed the order and abandoned his desk, stumbling to his bedroom. Unable to contain himself any longer, he stripped completely, tossing his clothes in a heap. He then then sprawled on his bed, fully exposed to the empty room. His cock stood like a solid monument to his obsession, throbbing with every beat of his heart. "Fuck, Jess," he groaned, stroking himself.

He imagined her wearing these exact panties, imagined sliding them down those long legs, imagined burying his face between her thighs. His strokes quickened, the delicate fabric adding an exquisite texture to his self-pleasure.

It didn't take long. With a grunt, Bob came hard, his seed spurting onto the black lace, soaking through it. He continued stroking until he was completely spent, the panties now ruined with his emission.

As his breathing slowed, Bob stared at the ceiling, satisfied. For a moment, he allowed himself to bask in the afterglow, imagining a future where Jess would willingly spread her legs for him and beg for his cock.

But reality began to seep back in. Bob's post-orgasmic haze dissipated quickly. He stared at the cum soaked panties in his hand. "Fuck," he muttered, sitting up. He'd gotten carried away, let his dick do the thinking. Rookie mistake.

He stumbled to the bathroom, panties clutched in his fist like evidence of a crime, which, he supposed, it was. Theft, maybe some kind of sexual offense. He wasn't about to go down for a pair of fucking panties, no matter how intoxicating they were.

The bathroom light made him wince as he flicked the switch. Bob's reflection stared back at him. He stood naked, his thick, barrel chest rising and falling with each breath, the sweat from his earlier exertions glistening across his skin. His broad shoulders, once pure muscle from years of physical labor, now sloped slightly under the weight of time, but still carried hints of the raw power that once defined them. His belly protruded, solid and rounded, no longer the flat plane of his youth but a testament to hearty meals and cold beers accumulated over decades.

Sparse, wiry hairs flecked his chest and trailed downward, merging into the forest of his groin where his thick cock hung heavily, still partially hard. His legs, tree trunks of muscle and fat, stood planted firmly beneath him, calves still defined from years of bracing ladders and hauling weight most men would shy away from.

And deep-set eyes peered out from beneath bushy brows, a predator's gaze in a body past its prime. He looked every bit the dirty old man he'd become, standing there with stolen panties in hand. He sneered at himself. "Pull it together, you fuck."

He turned on the faucet, letting the water run until it was hot. He then began washing the panties, working it between his thick fingers. The lace was so fragile, so unlike the utilitarian cotton his ex-wives had favored.

Once he was satisfied, Bob reached for his hairdryer. He'd bought it on a whim years ago, thinking he'd use it to style what little hair he had left. Now it served a far more clandestine purpose.

The dryer's warm air fluffed the fabric as Bob worked. He couldn't risk leaving even a hint of dampness. Any sign that these panties had been tampered with could bring his entire plan crashing down before it even began.

Finally satisfied that the panties were completely dry, Bob held them up to the light, inspecting his handiwork. They looked pristine, as if they'd never left the laundry basket. He allowed himself a small smile of triumph. Crisis averted.

He put on his robe, cinching it tightly around his broad frame, ensuring he was modestly covered before slipping back into the laundry room.

The door creaked slightly as he eased it open. Bob froze, ears straining for any sign of movement from upstairs. Nothing.

He buried the panties deep within the pile. His fingers lingered on the lace for just a moment, a farewell caress.

As he snuck back to his apartment, Bob's mind was already planning his next move. He'd build his collection, piece by piece, until he had enough of her to satisfy his cravings. And eventually, he'd have everything.

Jessica Marshall was worth waiting for. Worth planning for. Worth obsessing over. And Bob Caldwell was nothing if not patient.

---

The next morning, Thursday, Jess sat at her desk, fingers flying across the keyboard as she updated budget projections in Excel. The Skyline designs required tracking materials, labor, and contractor fees, all organized in rows and columns.

As she implemented a formula, she smiled, thinking to herself that Tom would likely be doing the exact same thing today.

Her mind drifted back to years ago, when Tom had patiently taught her the basics of Excel. They'd been trying to establish their first joint budget, sitting on their second-hand sofa. She'd been overwhelmed by the grid of empty cells staring back at her.

"It's not as complicated as it looks," Tom had promised. "Here, let me show you the basics."

He'd guided her through formulas, starting with simple addition. "Just type equals, then sum, then put the cells you want to add in the brackets," he'd explained. "Then hit enter."

When the numbers had automatically calculated, she'd looked up at him with a grin and declared, "You're a wizard!"

Tom laughed. "It's not that complicated, babe."

"Well, this feels like magic."

Tom's laughter subsided into a warm chuckle. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "Just wait till I show you VLOOKUP," he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

What she'd loved most about those moments wasn't learning new skills, it was how Tom had taught her. He had a way of explaining concepts without condescension. He'd broken things down step by step, celebrating her small victories with genuine enthusiasm.

Jess leaned back in her chair, remembering when she'd asked him about the stock market. She'd been reading news about a market crash and felt embarrassed by her limited understanding.

"Can you explain how the stock market works?" she'd asked tentatively. "I know it's probably really basic, but I never really learned."

Tom had lit up like she'd offered him the most fascinating conversation topic in the world. He'd set aside his book immediately, turning to face her fully.

He'd gone on to explain how companies use stock to raise money, how investors make decisions based on performance and future prospects, and how crashes happen when panic selling creates a downward spiral. No childish metaphors, no oversimplification, he'd treated her like an intelligent adult capable of understanding.

"Does that make sense?" he'd asked when he finished.

"Yeah... I guess," she'd replied, still confused, but touched by his eagerness to share his knowledge. It was as if he'd wanted to prove himself to her, to show that he could be valuable beyond just being fun to be around. Those teaching moments had become one of the foundations of their relationship.

A cramp tightened low in her abdomen, subtle but unmistakable. Jess shifted in her chair, pressing her palm against her lower belly as the sensation peaked and then subsided. She opened her desk drawer and retrieved the bottle of ibuprofen she kept there, swallowing two pills with a sip of coffee.

Her phone sat beside her keyboard, the period tracking app still open from when she'd checked it that morning. The red circle around today's date confirmed what her body was already telling her. Her cycle was right on schedule, crushing the hope she'd been nurturing since their passionate weekend. Jess closed the app, not wanting the visual reminder.

They'd talked about children for years, first in the language of someday: casual pillow talk, lazy Sunday fantasies over coffee, one of those whispered maybes that made sex feel alive but not yet urgent. Back then, the idea of a crib in the guest room, of Jess's belly rounding out, had been as far-off and fuzzy as a retirement account, a distant promise of adulthood that could be postponed for another day.

But reality kept pushing the dream into the distance. There had always been practical hurdles. Student loans, the mortgage, Tom's career, the waiting game of "after we're settled" or "after we've saved enough." Each goal achieved simply shifted the marker one step further away.

Worse yet, Tom's crypto disaster scorched their ambitions. She'd never forgotten the night he admitted how much he'd lost. She still loved him deeply, couldn't help it, but some part of her remained raw and irritated, like a bruise pressed too often.

This was supposed to be the perfect window. She was young enough to bounce back from pregnancy, established enough in her career to take maternity leave, mature enough to handle the responsibility. Everything about her life screamed readiness except their bank account.

Her phone buzzed. Tom's name appeared on the screen, and her heart lifted.

"Good morning, beautiful. How'd you sleep?" his text read.

Jess smiled. "Good. Miss you though," she typed back.

"Miss you too. Early start here. Meetings all day, but I'll try to call between."

"Don't forget to eat and drink water," she reminded him, imagining him rushing out of his hotel room with nothing but coffee in his system.

"Yes, babe. Love you."

"Love you too," she replied, setting the phone back down.

Jess stared at the screen, at Tom's final "Love you." Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, tempted to type more. Should she tell him?

She composed the message in her head: "Just so you know, got my period. Not pregnant after all." But the words felt too clinical, too detached. How do you convey disappointment over text about something that was only ever a possibility, never a certainty?

If the test had been positive, she'd have waited until he was home, planned some special way to tell him. She'd have reveled in watching his face transform with joy and wonder. Instead, there was just this, the quiet acknowledgment of another month gone by.

Jess deleted the draft message. This wasn't news to share while Tom was in crisis mode states away. It would only distract him, maybe even make him feel guilty for not being here. Besides, what was there really to say? That her body had continued its reliable cycle as it had for the past fifteen years? That was hardly breaking news.

Jess forced her attention back to the spreadsheet, determined to be productive. The Skyline project deserved her full focus, regardless of her personal distractions.

As she worked, she occasionally glanced at her phone, hoping for another message from Tom. Each time she found the screen dark, disappointment settled a little deeper in her chest.

The cramps that had started as subtle twinges that morning had evolved throughout the day, settling into a dull, persistent ache that radiated from her lower abdomen into her back. Jess pressed her palm against her belly, applying counter-pressure that provided momentary relief. Her body was sending unmistakable signals.

In the bathroom, Jess splashed cold water on her face and studied her reflection. Her skin looked slightly different, a certain paleness beneath her usual glow. She opened her makeup bag and found the small bottle of ibuprofen she kept for emergencies, swallowing two more pills to combat the building discomfort.

Jess glanced at her watch. 4:45 PM. Her usual Thursday yoga class started at 5:30. For a moment, she considered skipping it. The cramps and fatigue made the thought of the couch and a heating pad far more appealing than an hour of physical exertion. But another evening alone in the empty house with nothing but her thoughts and disappointment seemed worse.

Jess shut down her laptop and headed to the bedroom to change. She pulled on her favorite black Lululemon leggings, a gray sports bra, and a loose tank top before heading to her car, determined to sweat out the restlessness that had plagued her all day.

---

Jess arrived at Lotus Flow Yoga Studio ten minutes before class with her mat rolled under one arm and a water bottle clutched in the opposite hand. She'd been coming to this studio regularly for nearly four years, long enough that the front desk attendant Elaine greeted her by name without checking the system.

Her usual Thursday class with Amber had become sacred territory over the years, a necessary reset for her body and mind. Today, she needed it more than ever.

"Jess!" called Elaine from behind the desk. "How'd you like Derek's class on Monday?"

"Mmm... different," Jess replied. "Intense."

"He's been a hit," Elaine confided, leaning forward. "Amber might have trouble getting her class back when she returns from maternity leave."

"Is that right?" Jess paused at the desk, curious. "What are people saying about him?"

Elaine's eyes lit up, clearly delighted to share the gossip. "Two women actually got into an argument yesterday about who arrived first." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Between us, I think it has less to do with his teaching style and more to do with those abs."

Jess laughed, shaking her head. "Can't say I didn't notice."

"Girl, everyone notices," Elaine winked. "You doing okay though? You look a little..." she gestured vaguely, "... tired today."

"Just work stress," Jess offered with a shrug. "Nothing an hour of yoga can't fix."

"Well, he's doing the extended session afterward again," Elaine said, shuffling some papers. "You should stay if you have time! Best cure for stress I know."

Jess hesitated, then smiled. "I might. Depends how much energy I've got left after class."

In the locker room, Jess removed her light jacket, folded it neatly, and stowed it alongside her bag in a locker.

The studio itself was cooler than the locker room. It was dimly lit with soft lights that created pools of warmth on the hardwood floor. Only a few mats were already laid out, their owners in various states of preparation. Jess unrolled her mat in her usual spot.

She settled onto her back, arms stretched overhead, allowing her spine to lengthen against the mat. Her eyes drifted closed as she focused on her breath. In for four counts, hold for seven, out for eight. Tom had taught her the 4-7-8 breathing technique years ago. He'd picked up from a wellness podcast, something Dr. Andrew Weil had pioneered for stress management and sleep.

Tom. Always Tom, even in her moments of solitude.

Her body felt heavy against the mat. The hormonal flux preceding her period always amplified everything, emotions, sensations, tensions. Her breasts felt tender against the constraint of her sports bra, her skin sensitive where the mat pressed against her shoulder blades.

"Finding our center before we begin. Very wise."

The deep voice jolted Jess from her meditative state. She hadn't heard anyone approach, but there he stood, Derek, at the front of the room, arranging his own mat. Unlike Monday, when he'd worn a tank top, today he wore nothing but black shorts.

Derek was unmistakable. Tall, easily 6'3", with dark brown, almost black skin, built like a man who'd never spent time with dumbbells or protein shakes. Unlike Brandon's gym-built physique, Derek's lean physique came from endless pushups, handstands, and yoga flows that demanded control. Every inch of him looked tight, athletic, hard earned. His abs were defined, but not blocky. Instead, his whole torso seemed carved from stone, the lines running smooth down to a narrow waist.

Everything about him was motion and control: the way he balanced on the balls of his feet, his posture always loose but alert, like he could drop into a split or a headstand without even thinking. His legs were long and powerful, calves and thighs corded but lean, with years of squats and jumps etched into every line. When he bent low to roll out his mat, his muscles flexed.

Other students quickly filed into the room, filling the spaces between already placed mats. Familiar faces nodded in her direction: the retired accountant who always set up to her left, the college student who always arrived breathless and last-minute. The studio filled with the sounds of shifting bodies and deep breaths, creating a quiet symphony of anticipation.

Derek took his place at the front, settling into a cross-legged position, his spine straight. "Let's begin by closing our eyes," he instructed. "Bring awareness to your breath, to the sensation of air filling your lungs, to the rise and fall of your chest."

Jess obeyed, allowing her eyelids to flutter shut. The darkness behind them was soothing, a brief respite from visual stimulation.

"Now bring your attention to your body," Derek continued. "Notice any areas of tension, any places that feel constricted or uncomfortable. Acknowledge them without judgment. Your body speaks to you constantly. Today, we practice listening."

Something in his phrasing cut through Jess's usual yoga class detachment. Unlike Amber's more technical instructions, Derek's guidance felt almost intimate, as though he were speaking directly to her.

"We honor our bodies' wisdom," he continued. "Each of you arrives with different needs today. Some seek strength, others flexibility. Some need challenge, others restoration. Whatever you seek, approach your practice with intention."

The class progressed through a series of poses that felt both familiar and fresh. Derek's sequencing differed from Amber's, placing greater emphasis on core engagement and spinal flexibility. The movements demanded complete attention, leaving no room for distraction or rumination.

Halfway through, they moved into Warrior II. Jess extended her arms parallel to the floor, front knee bent, back leg straight. Her gaze focused over her front fingertips, her breath steady despite the burn building in her thigh muscles.

"Beautiful alignment," Derek's voice came from directly behind her, closer than she expected. "May I make an adjustment?"

Jess nodded. His fingers were warm against her hips, gently rotating them to square with the front of the room.

"Great form," he murmured. His thumbs pressed lightly into the dimples at the base of her spine. "Now sink deeper, if you can."

Jess obeyed, lowering her front thigh until it paralleled the floor. The burn intensified.

Derek moved on to assist other students, but Jess remained acutely conscious of his movements around the room.

By the time they reached the final resting pose, Jess's muscles buzzed with pleasant fatigue. She lay flat on her back, arms at her sides, palms facing upward in surrender. Her skin glistened with sweat, her chest rising and falling with each deep breath.

"Allow yourself to melt into the mat. Release any remaining tension, any thoughts that no longer serve you. For these final moments, you are nowhere but here, nothing but breath and sensation."

Jess felt herself sinking deeper, her body heavy yet somehow weightless. The prickling irritation that had followed her into class had dissolved, replaced by a floating tranquility. Even the subtle cramping had receded, temporarily forgotten.

Derek closed the session with a gentle "Namaste," the ending bringing Jess reluctantly back to full awareness. As students began rolling up mats and gathering belongings, he moved to the front of the room.

"For those interested, I'll be conducting an extended session focusing on inversions and balancing postures," he announced. "It's optional, of course, but a wonderful way to deepen your practice."

Jess had never stayed for the extended sessions Amber occasionally offered. There was always something else demanding her attention. Work deadlines, dinner preparations, social obligations. But today, with Tom away and nothing but an empty house awaiting her, the idea held unexpected appeal.

She hesitated, mat half-rolled in her hands. Most students were already filing out, eager to return to their lives beyond these walls. Only three others lingered uncertainly, the college student and an older couple Jess recognized from previous classes.

"I'd like to stay," she heard herself say.

Derek's smile was warm, revealing perfect white teeth against his dark skin. "Excellent. We'll begin again in five minutes. Feel free to hydrate and rest until then."

The extended session proved more intimate than the regular class, with Derek dividing his attention among just four students. They worked primarily on headstands and handstands, positions requiring strength and balance.

"The key to inversions isn't just physical strength," Derek explained as he demonstrated a perfect handstand, not a single muscle trembling with effort. "It's about finding your center of gravity and trusting yourself to maintain it."

When it came time for Jess to attempt a handstand against the wall, Derek positioned himself beside her. "I'll spot you," he offered. "Just in case."

Jess planted her palms firmly on the mat, fingers spread wide. She kicked up, feeling her body momentarily weightless before her feet found the wall behind her. Derek's hands hovered near her waist, not touching but ready to catch her if necessary.

"Engage your core," he instructed.

Jess attempted the movement, but her balance wavered. Instantly, Derek's hands were there, one at her waist, the other steadying her ankle.

"Trust yourself," he murmured. "Your body knows what to do."

Something in his tone, in the steady pressure of his hands, allowed Jess to find the necessary alignment. For three breathtaking seconds, she held the pose unassisted before carefully lowering back down.

"Beautiful," Derek said.

By the time the extended session concluded, the college student and the older couple had already left, leaving Jess alone with Derek. She wiped down her mat, acutely aware of his presence as he adjusted the thermostat and dimmed the lights further.

"You have excellent body awareness," he commented, approaching as she rolled her mat. "Not everyone connects so intuitively with their physicality."

"Thank you," Jess replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It's been years of practice."

"It shows," Derek continued, his dark eyes still on her. "Yoga isn't just about strength or flexibility. It's about alignment between the body, the breath, and the mind. When the three work in harmony, it's like unlocking the full energy grid within yourself."

Jess tilted her head. "Energy grid?" she repeated.

"Yes," Derek said warmly, clearly confident in his explanation. "Think of your body as a map, your postures as key points on that map, and your breath as the force that connects them. Everything flows through those points. Physical balance, emotional well-being, even spiritual clarity. When they're aligned, everything feels... effortless."

Jess nodded slowly, considering his words. "So that's the secret to the perfect handstand?"

"Not just the handstand," he said. "It's the secret to everything. You'd be surprised how often imbalance in the body reflects imbalance in the mind. If you hold tension somewhere, a hip, a shoulder, it's often tied to deeper patterns you might not even be aware of."

"How do you become aware of those patterns?"

"Listening," Derek replied simply. "Breath is your first teacher. It's always there, always speaking to you. Most people just don't take the time to hear it. Yoga helps slow things down enough to notice. Even the smallest adjustments can ripple through everything. A slight rotation of the hip, a deeper inhale, those tiny shifts echo through the body and beyond."

"Sounds almost mystical."

"Maybe it is," Derek admitted, laughing lightly. "But there's science behind it too, if that's what you're after. Neural pathways, muscle memory, and energy flow. They all intersect. Eastern traditions knew it long before modern medicine caught up."

She couldn't help but smile. "I guess I've always focused more on the physical side of yoga."

"That's part of it," Derek agreed. "But yoga's true power lies in what you can't see. It's about breaking patterns, rewiring the pathways that keep you stuck physically, emotionally, spiritually. You'd be surprised how much insight lies beneath the surface."

Jess shifted the mat strap over her shoulder. "So yoga is... therapy?"

"Yes, therapy for the body and the mind," Derek continued, his posture fluid as he folded his arms loosely across his lean chest. His tone remained measured but filled with conviction. "Think about it. Your breath, your postures, your alignment. They're all tools to reset. To create space, not just physically, but emotionally."

Jess adjusted her grip on the mat strap, intrigued despite herself. "Yeah?"

He smiled slightly, pulling his own mat upright and tucking it under one arm. "You've heard of fascia?"

Jess furrowed her brow, shaking her head slightly.

"It's connective tissue," he explained. "Runs throughout your body. Holds muscles, bones, everything, together. But here's the thing: it changes. It responds to how you live, how you move. It adapts to stress, to tension, even to trauma. And the opposite is true as well: movement heals. Breath heals. Yoga isn't just stretching. It's reprogramming your baseline."

Jess tilted her head. "So, every breath, is like... reprogramming?"

"Yes," Derek said, leaning slightly closer. "We're constantly recalibrating, like tuning an instrument. When you put your body in proper alignment, when you breathe deeply enough to shift yourself from fight-or-flight into rest-and-digest, you're rewiring your nervous system, calming your mind, metabolizing emotions that you didn't even realize needed processing."

"I guess I've always stayed in yoga's shallow end," Jess admitted. "The physical benefits. Flexibility, strength, all of that. I never thought of it as... reprogramming my nervous system. Sounds... kind of a lot."

"Only at first," Derek reassured her. "Think about it like this: you're already moving through life, carrying stress patterns, emotional habits. Yoga's not adding pressure, it's revealing it. Once you see it, you can shift. First in the body, then the mind."

Jess found herself nodding, intrigued by his perspective. "That's... a lot to think about."

He smiled again, softer this time. "It doesn't have to be complicated," he said lightly. "You don't need to understand every system in the body. Just start where you are."

Jess exhaled a faint laugh. "Start where I am," she repeated. "I'll try to remember that."

Derek shifted slightly, giving her room to move toward the door. "And if you want to explore the deeper side of yoga, the emotional, the energetic, there's no rush. The practice meets you where you're ready."

Jess adjusted the mat strap across her chest. "This was... really interesting," she admitted, warmth lighting her voice. "Thank you for sharing."

"You're welcome," Derek said, his tone grounded and sincere. "See you Monday?"

"Definitely," Jess replied, stepping into the hallway and leaving the room behind.

---

After dinner, Jess stood at the sink, water streaming over her plate. The house was silent around her. She finished rinsing and set the plate in the rack. The kitchen clock ticked, soft, incessant, counting out the seconds of another evening alone.

Her phone vibrated on the counter. Tom's name. Not a video call, just a regular ring. She didn't say hello, didn't ask if he missed her.

"You ever get that leak in the hotel bathroom fixed?" she said instead, leaning her hip against the counter, letting a smile curve her mouth that only she could see.

Tom snorted, a familiar sound. "It's still dripping. I think the hotel's maintenance guy's older than Bob. Probably learned plumbing from the Romans."

She laughed, the sound echoing in the empty kitchen as she curled onto a stool, tucking her knees up. "Should've brought him along, huh? He'd have the whole place fixed for a case of beer."

"Don't tempt me, babe. I'm desperate enough to consider it." His voice carried the weight of the day. "But honestly, it's been all the same issues here. You know how it is. No one listens until something breaks, then everyone wants me to pull off miracles for minimum wage."

"If they gave you minimum wage, we'd be even more fucked than we are now," she said, glancing around at their beautiful kitchen. "But I guess we'd finally qualify for food stamps."

He hummed, tired but present. "Had dinner?"

"I made pasta. Nothing fancy."

"You eat anything green at all or just carbs and cheese tonight?" His tone was light, playful.

"Broccoli. Roasted. I took a picture, want proof?" Jess smiled. "I even put that new spice mix on it."

"I trust you, babe." His voice dropped. "Sometimes."

"By the way, Bob stopped by last night."

Tom's voice was suddenly sharp. "Why?"

Jess felt herself stiffen, defensive without meaning to be. "He had the new faucets for the kitchen and bathroom. Wanted to install them."

"And you let him in? Alone?"

"Tom. He was already carrying like thirty pounds of metal. I wasn't gonna send him away. And he finished in less than two hours. He was..." She stopped herself. 'Harmless' felt too dismissive, too naive. "Professional," she finished.

"That's not the point, Jess. He's still practically a stranger. You shouldn't be letting some guy we barely know in the house when I'm not there. I get that he's fixing things, but... did he go in our bedroom?"

"Yes, Tom, to install the bathroom faucet," she said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "He didn't rifle through my underwear drawer if that's what you're asking. He looked at pipes and talked about water pressure."

She braced an elbow on the counter. "Seriously Tom, he was fine. I had my phone on me the whole time. He's lonely, not dangerous. He mostly asked about my design work."

"You don't know that he's not dangerous. People are good at hiding things. Hell, we barely know what he did before moving in." Tom's breath came faster. "I don't like the idea of some guy we met a week ago having free access to you while I'm not there."

The edge crept back into her voice as she stood up, pacing the kitchen. "You vetted him. Ran background. He's twice divorced, drinks cheap beer, and seems to know every hardware supplier in Texas. If he's secretly running a cartel out of his toolbox, he's got me fooled."

Tom's sigh crackled through the line, resignation mixing with frustration. "Just... be careful, okay? I know you can take care of yourself. But it freaks me out thinking about you there alone with some guy we don't really know." There was a pause, then, quieter: "I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you."

She didn't say, 'I've been dealing with men staring, wanting, prowling, since I was a young teenager'. She didn't say, 'you love me for being beautiful, but you're scared of everything that comes with it'.

Instead, she said "I get it. I'll be careful," her voice softening. "He's just an old man who likes to fix things, Tom. And honestly, the faucets look amazing. The water pressure actually works now."

Tom made a noncommittal noise, then cleared his throat. "Look, I'm not trying to be controlling, but can you promise me something? Just... don't let him in the house when you're alone again. At least until I'm back."

"Seriously, Tom?"

"I know it sounds ridiculous," Tom admitted. "But it would make me feel better."

Jess sighed, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. "Fine. I promise I won't let the big scary handyman in the house alone until you're back. Happy?"

"Thank you," Tom said, relief evident in his voice. "And the faucets really look that good?"

"Night and day difference," Jess confirmed, glad to move past the subject. "You'll see when you get home."

She heard rustling on his end, like he was settling into a more comfortable position. After a moment, his voice returned with casualness. "So what did you do today? Anything exciting?" The forced lightness in his tone was obvious, but she appreciated the effort.

Jess moved onto the couch, tucking her feet underneath her. "Yoga was different tonight," she said.

"Yeah?" His voice perked up, interest replacing the tension. "That new guy again? What was his name?"

"Derek," she said. "He's... intense. Not like Brandon or your gym bros who just want to show off how much they can bench. Derek's all about alignment and breath." She paused, searching for the right words. "It's hard to explain. He talks about energy grids and recalibrating your nervous system. Makes you think about your body differently."

"Energy grids?" Tom's voice dripped with playful sarcasm. "Sounds like the kind of bullshit guys use when they're trying to get women out of their yoga pants. 'Oh baby, let me realign your chakras with my special technique.'" He paused, then added, "So what did the enlightened Derek have to say about your... alignment?"

"Not everyone is trying to get into my pants, Tom."

"Just ninety-nine percent of the male population," Tom countered. "And probably ninety percent of the female population too."

"He's a professional," Jess insisted. "And he's actually really knowledgeable. He was talking about how emotional tension manifests physically. How the body stores stress and trauma."

"Uh-huh," Tom's skepticism radiated through the phone. "And I'm sure he offered to help release all that tension? Maybe some private sessions?"

"God, you're impossible," Jess laughed, stretching her legs out on the couch. "Actually, I did stay for his extended session after class. Only four of us did."

There was a brief silence on the line. "Extended session?" Tom's voice had lost its playful edge. "That's new."

Jess shifted, suddenly aware of the subtle shift in his tone. "It was just more advanced poses. Headstands, handstands, that kind of thing." She paused before adding, "He had to spot me for the handstand."

"Spot you?" Tom's voice tightened further. "As in, hands on?"

Something in his tone made her pause. Was it jealousy? Or something else entirely? "Just to make sure I didn't fall," Jess explained, remembering Derek's hands at her waist and his calm instruction to trust herself. "It's completely normal in yoga."

"I bet it is," Tom said. "So what was it like? Was he holding you while you were upside down in those tight yoga pants?"

Jess sat up straighter, surprised by the directness of his question. "It wasn't like that, Tom. It was professional."

"Professional," Tom repeated. "And how exactly does the professional Derek look? Just so I can picture this properly."

Jess hesitated for a moment. "Tall, lean. He does yoga for a living, so obviously he's fit."

"Fit how?" Tom pressed.

"Not bulky. More... I don't know, streamlined? It's all functional muscle. And he's..." She paused.

"He's what?" Tom's voice had dropped lower.

"He's black," Jess finished, immediately regretting the unnecessary detail. "Not that it matters."

"Is he handsome?" Tom pressed.

Jess hesitated. "Objectively? Yeah, I guess he is. The front desk girl at the studio was telling me two women actually got into an argument yesterday about who arrived to his class first."

"And what about you? You fighting for front row spots too?"

"Tom!" Jess laughed. "I'm not sixteen. I can recognize when someone's attractive without developing a schoolgirl crush."

"So you do find him attractive."

"That's not-" Jess started, then sighed. "Fine. Yes, he's attractive. He's also my yoga instructor, and I'm very much happily married."

"Doesn't mean you can't look," Tom said. "Or think about it."

"Are you seriously asking if I fantasize about my yoga instructor?" Jess asked incredulously.

"Do you?"

"No, I do not fantasize about Derek," Jess said firmly.

"So you've got this tall, lean, handsome, black yoga teacher putting his hands on my wife while she's in compromising positions," Tom summarized. "And you stayed specifically for this extended session."

"It wasn't like that," Jess repeated, frustration creeping into her voice. "Why are you being weird about this? It's just yoga."

"I'm not being weird," Tom countered. "I'm just trying to understand why my wife, who never stays for extended sessions with Amber, suddenly decides to do one with Mr. Energy Grid."

Jess sighed. "I stayed because I didn't want to come home to an empty house, okay? Because I'm lonely and sad and..." She trailed off, biting her lip.

"And?" Tom asked, his tone softening.

"And I got my period today," she admitted quietly. "So I'm not pregnant. Again."

The line went silent for a beat.

"Oh," Tom finally said. "Jess, I'm sorry. I know we both hoped..."

"Yeah," she cut in, not wanting to dwell on it. "It is what it is. Anyway, that's why I stayed. I just needed the distraction."

Tom's sigh carried through the phone. "I'm sorry I'm not there," he said. "And I'm sorry about being weird about the yoga thing. I guess I just... miss you," Tom admitted. "Being here alone in this hotel room, thinking about you back home... it gets to me. And hearing about some attractive yoga instructor with his hands on you..." He let out a frustrated breath. "I know it's irrational. I just wish those were my hands on you instead."

Jess felt a flutter in her stomach at his words, that familiar warmth spreading through her body despite her cramps. "I miss you too," she said softly. "The bed feels too big. I keep reaching for you in my sleep."

Tom's exhale was heavy through the phone. "Same here. Hotel beds are already depressing enough without missing your gorgeous wife."

A comfortable silence settled between them for a moment.

"So what's on your agenda tomorrow?" Tom asked.

Jess shifted on the couch. "I'm only working till noon so I can get ready for the party properly."

"Smart woman," Tom agreed. "It's going to be amazing, Jess. You're going to blow them all away."

"What about you? How's tomorrow looking?"

Tom's groan carried through the phone with clarity. "Brutal. Today was supposed to be the big push to fix everything, but we hit another wall. Tomorrow's going to be my busiest day yet. Meetings from 8 AM straight through till probably 6 PM." The frustration in his voice was palpable. "The CEO's breathing down everyone's necks. If we don't get this fixed by tomorrow night..."

"You will," Jess assured him, conviction in her voice. "You always do. That's why Davis sent you."

"Yeah, well..." Tom sighed. "I just wish I could be in two places at once. I should be there with you tomorrow."

"I know," Jess said softly. She hesitated, then made a sudden decision. "Wait, I want to show you something. Can we switch to video?"

"Now?" Tom sounded surprised but intrigued. "Sure."

The call disconnected briefly before reconnecting with video. Tom's face appeared on her screen, tired eyes and stubbled jaw, his hotel room's bland beige walls visible behind him. He was sitting on the bed, tie loosened, top button undone.

"Hey beautiful," he said, his smile genuine despite his exhaustion.

"Give me a minute," Jess replied, propping her phone against the lamp on the end table. "Don't go anywhere."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Tom assured her.

Jess disappeared from frame, hurrying to their bedroom. She opened the closet door and reached for the emerald dress, still hanging exactly where she'd left it. Her heart raced slightly as she stripped off her lounge clothes and carefully slipped the dress over her head, adjusting it. She didn't bother with shoes or jewelry. This wasn't about the full effect. This was about connection, about sharing something she'd meant to show him days ago.

When she returned to the living room, she positioned herself a few feet back from the phone so Tom could see the full dress. "So," she said. "What do you think?"

Tom's eyes widened visibly even through the small screen. "Holy shit, Jess," he breathed. "You look... wow."

Jess did a slow turn, letting him see how the dress hugged her body. "I bought it when I went shopping with Madi on Tuesday," she explained. "I was going to surprise you with it, but then..." She trailed off, not wanting to rehash the disappointment.

"It's incredible," Tom said. "That color against your skin... Jesus, Jess." He leaned closer to his screen.

Jess smiled, feeling a flush of pleasure at his reaction. "You really like it?"

"Like is way too mild a word," Tom said. "I'm sitting here trying to figure out if I can catch a red eye back just to see you in that dress in person." His expression shifted, becoming more serious. "I'm so sorry I'm missing this, Jess. I really should be there."

"It's okay," she said, though they both knew it wasn't entirely. "I'll take plenty of pictures."

"You better," Tom warned. "And maybe you could model it for me again when I get back? Just for me?"

"I think that could be arranged," she replied, matching his tone. "Though I can't promise the dress will stay on very long."

"You're killing me, Jess. I'm hundreds of miles away in a hotel room with the world's most uncomfortable mattress, and you're standing there looking like that."

Jess laughed, feeling lighter than she had all day. "Consider it motivation to finish your project quickly."

"Trust me," Tom said, his eyes still roaming her form through the screen, "I've never been more motivated to get back home in my life."

She settled back onto the couch, adjusting the phone so he could still see her in the dress.

They talked about nothing important for a while, office gossip, a funny story about the hotel staff. The dress and the distance between them created a strange intimacy, a shared secret across the miles.

When Tom's yawn finally betrayed his exhaustion, Jess smiled gently. "You should sleep. Big day tomorrow, remember?"

"Yeah," he agreed reluctantly. "I want to hear that Chris Webb is falling over himself to hire you for every project from now till retirement."

"I'll do my best," she promised. "Call me tomorrow?"

"First chance I get," Tom assured her. "I love you, Jess. More than anything."

"I love you too," she replied softly. "Goodnight, Tom."

"Goodnight, beautiful."

The call ended, leaving Jess alone in the silent house once more. But something had shifted, some of the heaviness lifted.

---

Jess stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, considering her reflection. Today was her moment, her professional triumph, even if Tom wouldn't be by her side to witness it.

Her phone chimed with a text.

Tom: "Morning beautiful. Just heading into first meeting. Wanted to say I love you and I'm so proud of you. You're going to own that room tonight."

Jess smiled. She typed back quickly.

Jess: "Thanks babe. Nervous but excited. How's it looking there?"

Tom: "Brutal. CEO breathing down our necks. Might be offline most of day. Will try to call before your party."

Jess: "Don't stress about calling. Focus on your work. I'll send pics."

Tom: "That dress is going to destroy them. Send ALL the pics."

Jess: "Will do. Miss you."

Tom: "Miss you more. Gotta run. Love you."

Jess: "Love you too."

She set her phone down and turned back to her reflection, noting the subtle shadows beneath her eyes. Nothing a good concealer couldn't fix, but evidence of restless sleep nonetheless.

The morning passed in a blur of last-minute work emails and touch-ups to the Skyline presentation materials. Around noon, Jess closed her laptop and stretched, feeling the tension that had built up in her shoulders from hunching over her keyboard. She made herself a light lunch, just a small salad with grilled chicken, knowing she'd need something in her stomach before the evening's festivities but not wanting to feel bloated in her dress. As she ate, she mentally rehearsed potential conversations with investors and clients, planning how to highlight the key features of her Skyline designs. The nervous energy building inside her couldn't be ignored, but she channeled it into productive preparation, reviewing her portfolio one final time before setting it aside for Madi's arrival.

At precisely 2 PM, the doorbell rang. Jess opened it to find Madi standing there with a leather makeup case in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other.

"Let the transformation begin!" Madi announced, sweeping past Jess into the house. "I've brought reinforcements." She held up the champagne triumphantly.

"It's barely afternoon," Jess protested weakly.

"It's party day," Madi replied, already heading to the kitchen for glasses. "Besides, a glass or two to take the edge off won't hurt."

Despite her objections, Jess accepted the flute of bubbly champagne Madi pressed into her hand. The first sip fizzed pleasantly down her throat, warming her from the inside.

"First things first," Madi said, eyeing Jess critically. "You need a proper shower before we even think about makeup. Go on, full treatment."

Jess nodded and headed to the master bathroom where she stripped down and stepped under the hot spray. She methodically shaved everything, her legs, underarms, and the sensitive skin of her bikini line, removing every last trace of hair until she was completely bare. The razor glided over her slick skin as steam filled the shower stall. Afterward, she toweled off and slathered her entire body with her expensive moisturizer, working it into every inch of her freshly shaved skin until she felt silky smooth.

"Now," Madi said, setting down her glass and opening her makeup case with dramatic flair when Jess returned wrapped in her robe. "Let's make you even more gorgeous than usual. By the time I'm done, every man in that room will be questioning his marriage vows, and every woman will be contemplating a sexual identity crisis."

Jess laughed, her nerves easing. "You're ridiculous."

"I prefer visionary," replied Madi, guiding Jess to sit facing the natural light from the window. "Now hold still while I work my magic."

For the next hour, Jess surrendered to Madi's expertise. They chatted about office gossip and client drama as Madi applied make up.

"So," Madi said, "any more developments with the tenant situation?"

"He installed new faucets Wednesday night."

"Oh?" Madi's perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. "And Tom was okay with that? Mr. Protective Husband let another man into his castle while he was away?"

Jess sighed, closing her eyes as Madi continued. "He wasn't thrilled when I told him about it. Actually made me promise not to let Bob in the house again until he's back."

"Hmm," Madi hummed thoughtfully. "Men get so territorial about their space. Like some kind of primal instinct to protect their cave from other cavemen."

"I don't know. Tom's all worried because 'we barely know him' and 'he could be dangerous'," Jess said, adding air quotes with her fingers. "But come on, he's just a harmless old man who likes fixing things. You should see him with his toolbox, all organized. It's actually kind of endearing."

"Endearing?" Madi paused. "That's an interesting word choice for your tenant."

"You know what I mean," Jess said, waving dismissively. "He reminds me of my grandpa, always puttering around with projects. I think Tom's being overprotective. I mean, Bob's what, fifty-five? And he's been nothing but respectful. Even when I answered the door in just a t-shirt the other night, he kept his eyes firmly on my face."

"Wait, you answered the door in just a t-shirt?" Madi's eyes widened.

"It wasn't planned! I didn't know he was coming over," Jess defended herself. "I actually feel bad for him sometimes. Can you imagine being twice divorced and having to rent out someone else's basement in your fifties? He must be so lonely down there."

"Careful with that sympathy," Madi warned. "That's how horror movies start. The sweet, lonely older man who just needs a friend..."

"Oh stop," Jess laughed. "Not everyone has ulterior motives. Bob's just... I don't know, sad. When he talks about his ex-wives, you can tell there's still pain there. And his apartment is so sparse. He barely has any personal items, just tools."

"So what, you want to adopt him now?" Madi asked. "Invite him upstairs for family dinners and movie nights?"

"No," Jess said. "I just think Tom's being paranoid. What does he think Bob's going to do? He's not some predator waiting to pounce the second Tom leaves town. He was all professional Wednesday night."

Madi gave her a knowing look. "Honey, men don't see other men the way we do. Tom sees a potential threat, a guy with access to his gorgeous wife. You see a harmless grandpa who needs compassion."

"Because that's what he is," Jess insisted. "If you met him, you'd understand. He's just... trying to rebuild his life. And he's been so helpful with the house. Did I tell you he fixed our garage door too? It used to make this horrible grinding noise, and now it's silent."

"My god," Madi said, stepping back to examine her work. "You really are naive sometimes. It's adorable but concerning."

"I'm not naive," Jess protested. "I'm just not automatically suspicious of everyone. Besides, Bob's like twice my age."

"As if that matters to men," Madi scoffed. "Look, I'm not saying Bob's dangerous, but maybe Tom's instincts aren't completely off base. Just... be careful, okay? Not everyone is who they seem to be."

Jess rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll maintain appropriate tenant landlord boundaries. No more answering the door in my underwear."

"That would be a start," Madi said.

"Tom seemed genuinely concerned about him being around me. But then last night..." Jess trailed off.

Madi paused. "Last night what? Spill it."

"We were talking on the phone, and I mentioned my yoga teacher, Derek."

"The hot one you told me about?" Madi interjected, returning to her work.

"Yes, him," Jess confirmed, rolling her eyes. "And Tom got so... weird about it. He wanted details. What Derek looks like, how he touched me during poses. He even asked if I found him attractive."

Madi's eyes widened with interest. "And do you?"

"That's not the point," Jess deflected. "The point is, Tom seemed almost... turned on by the idea of Derek spotting me during handstands."

"Look up," Madi instructed, continuing to apply make up. "So let me get this straight. Tom gets jealous and protective about Bob, but excited about Brandon and Derek?"

"I don't know..." Jess admitted. "He also asked if I fantasize about Derek."

"And do you?" Madi asked bluntly.

"No!" Jess exclaimed, then flinched as Madi steadied her face.

"Stay still unless you want to look like a raccoon," Madi warned. "And honey, there's nothing wrong with a little fantasy."

"But I don't fantasize about Derek," Jess insisted. "Or Brandon, before you ask."

"Your loss," Madi shrugged, a sly smile playing on her lips.

"You've told me enough already," Jess replied.

"So Tom's turned on by the idea of other men wanting you. That's... actually pretty hot."

"I don't even know if that's it... but it's confusing is what it is," Jess replied.

"Maybe it comes down to control," Madi suggested, stepping back to assess her work. "Bob's an unknown factor, living downstairs, with access to your home. There's no control there. But Brandon's his friend, someone he trusts, and Derek's just a yoga instructor you see a few times a week in public."

Jess considered Madi's theory. "Maybe. Or maybe it's about attractiveness? Bob's older, not conventionally handsome. Brandon and Derek are both... you know."

"Hot as fucking hell?" Madi supplied helpfully.

"Something like that," Jess laughed.

"Or," Madi said, her tone becoming more serious as she began work on Jess's lips, "maybe Tom's exploring something about himself that he's not fully ready to acknowledge. Some men get turned on by the idea of other men wanting their partners. It's not that uncommon."

"You think Tom's wants me to date other men?" Jess asked.

"I'm not saying that," Madi clarified. "I'm saying he might be discovering he likes the idea of you being desired. It's a power thing for some guys, a way of validating their choice. Like, 'look at my hot wife, everyone wants her, but she's mine.'"

Jess fell silent, considering. The night Tom had watched her pose by the pool for Bob's camera came to mind. He'd been so turned on afterward, taking her with an urgency she hadn't experienced in months.

"Maybe," she conceded finally. "But it's not exactly something we've discussed."

"You should," Madi encouraged, pausing her makeup application to meet Jess's eyes in the mirror. "You know, you should actually talk to him about this when he gets back. Not accusingly, but openly, like you're discovering something exciting together."

She resumed applying the make up. "Men are terrible at communicating their desires, especially the complicated ones. Half the time they don't even understand what turns them on or why."

"I wouldn't even know how to start that conversation," Jess admitted.

"Simple. Wait until after sex when he's all blissed out and vulnerable," Madi suggested. "Then ask him what it was about Brandon flirting with you that seemed to turn him on. And then ask him what it was about that photo shoot that turned him on too. Was it knowing Bob was watching you? Men get surprisingly honest when they're in that post orgasm haze."

Jess bit her lip. "What if he denies it?"

"Then you know he's not ready to admit it to himself yet," Madi shrugged. "But I bet he won't deny it. I bet he'll tell you exactly what he liked about it." She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "And that's when you suggest exploring it further. Could spice things up. God knows Brandon wouldn't mind playing along."

"Madi!" Jess exclaimed but couldn't help laughing. "That's not happening... but speaking of Brandon, how's your 'arrangement' going these days? Still working out?"

Madi smiled wide. "Better than ever. You know how it is. Neither of us wants the drama of a real relationship."

"And yet you keep ending up in his bed," Jess teased.

Madi resumed her work, carefully coating Jess's lashes. "Can you blame me? We've got the perfect situation. Amazing sex without the headache of commitment."

"I still don't know how you two manage it so well," Jess mused. "Every time one of you starts dating someone else, you just hit pause, no drama."

"That's why it works," Madi shrugged elegantly. "Remember when I was with Michael last year? Brandon and I were strictly platonic for those four months. The day after we broke up..."

"He showed up with takeout and tequila," Jess finished, having heard the story before. "And you didn't get to the food until morning."

"Exactly," Madi laughed. "That's the beauty of our system. When we're both single, we have each other. No questions, no jealousy, no complications."

"And he's still seeing other people when you're... on pause?" Jess asked, though she already knew the answer.

"Of course he is. Brandon's never going to be a one woman man," Madi said matter-of-factly. "But that's part of why it works so well for us. I don't want him all to myself. I just want access to that magnificent body whenever I'm in the mood."

"That's still frighteningly practical of you both," Jess said, shaking her head with a smile. "Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised after all these years."

"Not everyone can handle the husband-and-wife thing like you and Tom," Madi replied. "Some of us prefer our freedom... with occasional benefits."

By 5 PM, the transformation was complete. Jess stood before the full-length mirror in their bedroom. The emerald dress fit her perfectly. Madi had created a subtle smoky eye that added drama without looking overdone, and her lips were painted a muted rose that complemented rather than competed with the dress.

"Holy shit," Madi breathed, standing behind her. "I've outdone myself. You look absolutely fucking incredible."

Jess turned sideways, admiring how the dress emphasized the curve of her waist and hips. "It's pretty amazing," she admitted.

"Pretty amazing?" Madi scoffed. "Jessica Marshall, you are a goddamn knockout. If Tom could see you right now, he'd be booking the next flight home."

As if summoned by his name, Jess's phone rang. Tom's face appeared on the screen.

"Speaking of the devil," Madi said. "I'll give you some privacy." She squeezed Jess's shoulder before slipping out of the bedroom.

Jess answered the call, switching immediately to video. "Hey," she said, a genuine smile spreading across her face.

Tom's tired expression transformed into one of awe as he took in her appearance. "Jesus Christ, Jess," he breathed. "You look... there aren't even words."

She did a slow turn for him, the camera capturing the full effect. "Madi worked her magic," she said.

"Remind me to send her a thank you gift," Tom replied, his voice tight with what sounded like both appreciation and regret. "I can't believe I'm missing seeing you in that dress in person."

"Me neither," Jess admitted. "But I'll take lots of pictures."

"You better." Tom's eyes never left her image. "I'm sorry the call's so short. We're in a ten-minute break between meetings. The CEO's on the warpath, and we're still having issues with the implementation."

"It's okay," Jess assured him. "I should finish getting ready anyway."

---

At just about 7 PM, the Uber pulled up to the entrance of the Fairmont Austin. Jess smoothed the emerald dress over her thighs, heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. This was her moment, and she was facing it alone.

The doorman nodded appreciatively as he held the heavy glass door open. "Good evening, ma'am."

Jess offered a smile and stepped into the lobby, noticing the quiet luxury: marble floors, soaring ceilings, and tasteful lighting that made everyone look more attractive than they actually were. She followed the discreet signage directing guests to the "Skyline Austin Launch" in the grand ballroom.

Outside the ballroom entrance, a sleek sign displayed the Skyline Austin logo beside architectural renderings of the Skyline building, which included the penthouse interiors. Her team's designs, their vision, their work, splashed across huge panels for everyone to see. Jess paused, taking a deep breath before pushing through the doors.

Inside, the grand ballroom had been transformed for the Skyline launch. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the space while floor-to-ceiling windows offered spectacular views of Austin's skyline, a fitting backdrop for tonight's celebration. A string quartet played in one corner, their music providing an elegant soundtrack without overwhelming conversation. Waiters circulated with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres.

One of the waiters passing with a tray of champagne flutes caught sight of her. "Champagne, ma'am?" he offered, extending the tray.

"Thank you," Jess replied, taking a flute and scanning the room.

As Jess sipped her champagne, she spotted Annie Davis near one of the design displays, explaining something to an older couple who nodded with interest. Annie's normally understated appearance had been transformed for the evening. Her auburn hair swept into an elegant updo, her navy cocktail dress a perfect complement to her fair skin.

"There you are!" Annie exclaimed when she caught sight of Jess. "I was beginning to think you'd chickened out." She excused herself from the couple and moved to Jess's side, lowering her voice. "Holy shit, that dress is incredible. You're making the rest of us look like we shopped at Target."

Jess laughed, grateful for Annie's familiar presence. "Please. You look amazing. Who are your new friends?"

"Potential buyers," Annie replied. "Retired couple from Chicago looking for a winter home. I've been talking their ears off about the southern exposure in unit 3801." She glanced around the room. "Have you seen Michael from accounting? He's actually wearing something other than those awful khakis. And I swear he got a haircut specifically for tonight."

"The world truly is full of wonders," Jess quipped. "Is he still doing that fantasy football thing he won't shut up about?"

"Worse," Annie groaned. "Now it's NFTs."

They were joined by Sam, who approached with the nervous energy of someone about to perform. "There you both are! I've been looking everywhere. We should go over the presentation points one more time, don't you think?"

Annie rolled her eyes. "Sam, we've rehearsed it a dozen times. We could do this presentation in our sleep."

"I know, I know," Sam fidgeted with his cuff links. "But Chris Webb just cornered me in the bathroom, not literally, thank god, but he mentioned the investors are interested in the sustainable materials angle, so I thought..."

"Sam," Jess interrupted gently, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "We've got this. Your section is perfect. Annie's smart home integration is perfect. We're prepared."

"Easy for you to say," Sam muttered. "You could stand up there and recite the phone book and they'd still be captivated."

"It's the dress," Annie stage-whispered, making them all laugh.

"Speaking of captivated audiences," Jess nodded toward a group nearby, "isn't that David from HR with Sophia from Marketing? I thought they hated each other after the Christmas party incident."

Sam snorted. "Apparently the hate's evolved into something else. I caught them making out by the elevators last week."

"No!" Annie gasped. "But she's married!"

"Separated," Sam corrected. "As of last month. David's been waiting in the wings for years, poor guy."

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Greg Robinson, the firm's senior architect who rarely socialized with the design team. His typical seriousness was softened by what appeared to be his third or fourth drink of the evening.

"The golden trio," he announced, clinking his glass against Jess's. "Our stars of the hour. The designs look spectacular, by the way. I've had three different developers ask if you might be available for consultations."

"Really?" Annie perked up.

"Don't sound so surprised," Greg chuckled. "Your work speaks for itself." He turned to Jess. "Marshall, when you have a moment, Margaret wants to introduce you to some people."

"Thanks, Greg," Jess replied. "I'll find her shortly."

As Greg wandered off toward the bar, Sam exhaled slowly. "I still can't believe we're actually here, that people are actually seeing our work, that Chris Webb is about to introduce us to half of Austin's millionaires."

"Multi multi millionaires," Annie corrected with a grin. "This isn't amateur hour."

Jess took another sip of champagne. Despite Tom's absence, she felt strangely centered, ready for whatever the evening might bring. "We should probably circulate," she suggested. "Make the most of this opportunity."

"Agreed," Sam nodded.

They parted ways, each heading in different directions. Jess began making her way through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with colleagues and clients, acutely aware of the appreciative glances following her progress.

Across the room, she spotted Margaret DeVore engaged in conversation with Chris Webb and two men in expensive suits. Likely investors. Margaret looked polished as always in a tailored black pantsuit, her silver hair styled in its signature bob. Chris Webb stood beside her, gesturing animatedly as he spoke, his enthusiasm clear even from a distance.

As Jess approached the small group, Margaret caught sight of her first. The older woman's professional mask slipped momentarily, revealing genuine pleasure.

"Jessica," Margaret called, extending a manicured hand. "Perfect timing. Chris was just discussing the penthouse layouts."

Chris Webb turned, his face lighting up with recognition. His custom suit probably cost more than her monthly mortgage payment.

"There she is," Chris proclaimed, reaching for her hand. His grip was firm, his smile genuine. "The visionary behind our penthouses. Jessica Marshall, I was just singing your praises."

Jess felt a flush of pride but maintained her professional composure. "It was a team effort," she replied modestly. "Sam and Annie contributed significantly to the final designs."

"But you led the charge," Chris insisted before turning to the two men beside him. "Gentlemen, this is Jessica Marshall, the interior designer I was telling you about. Jessica, meet Richard Harrington and James Chen."

Richard, the older of the two, appeared to be in his sixties with silver hair and the deep tan of someone who spent more time on golf courses than in offices. James was younger, perhaps early forties, with sharp features and alert eyes that seemed to calculate the value of everything they observed.

"A pleasure," Richard said, taking her hand. "Chris tells us you've worked magic with the penthouse spaces."

"I wouldn't call it magic," Jess replied with a smile. "Just thoughtful design."

"The renderings are remarkable," James added, his gaze moving between Jess and the display panels across the room. "Particularly the integration of smart home features with traditional luxury elements. Very forward-thinking."

Jess nodded, warming to the subject. "We wanted to create spaces that felt timeless yet thoroughly modern. Technology that serves the resident without dominating the environment."

"Jessica has a gift for understanding how people actually live in spaces," Margaret interjected. "Not just how they think they'll live in them."

Chris nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly why we brought your firm on board. The previous designers we consulted were all flash, no substance. Beautiful renderings that would have been impractical nightmares to actually live in."

Richard swirled his whiskey thoughtfully. "I'm particularly interested in the master suite design. The way you've positioned the bed to capture both the sunrise and the city views is quite clever."

"That was actually inspired by traditional feng shui principles," Jess explained. "Positioning the bed where it receives natural light but maintains privacy while offering views that connect the resident to both nature and the urban landscape."

"Fascinating," James said. "My wife is obsessed with feng shui. She'd appreciate that thoughtfulness."

"The materials palette is exquisite as well," Chris added. "The combination of local limestone with those Italian marble accents in the master bath... absolute perfection."

"We wanted to honor the Texas landscape," Jess explained.

Margaret nodded approvingly. "Jessica understands that true luxury isn't about opulence for its own sake. It's about creating experiences, moments of beauty in everyday life."

"That's exactly it," Jess agreed. "Even something as simple as the morning routine becomes elevated when you're surrounded by thoughtful design."

Richard's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Well, at these price points, the morning routine should feel pretty damn special."

They all laughed, her tension easing.

The conversation flowed smoothly from there, touching on design trends and material sourcing challenges. Jess found herself relaxing into the discussion, her initial nervousness replaced by professional confidence. These men might control millions in investment capital, but in matters of design, she was the expert. Tom's absence, while still felt, no longer seemed to diminish her moment.

As a waiter approached with fresh drinks, Chris raised his glass in a small toast. "To Skyline Austin and the remarkable team bringing it to life."

They all clinked glasses, and Jess felt a surge of satisfaction. This project, her vision realized in collaboration with talented colleagues, was something to be genuinely proud of.

As the clock approached 7:30, the ballroom had filled considerably. The energy shifted as staff discreetly adjusted the lighting, creating focal points toward the stage area where a podium stood bearing the Skyline Austin logo. The string quartet transitioned to a softer melody, signaling the upcoming formalities.

Jess felt a hand at her elbow and turned to find Margaret.

"You're making quite the impression," Margaret murmured, nodding toward several guests who were clearly discussing Jess. "That dress was a strategic choice."

"I'd like to claim it was calculated," Jess admitted, "but honestly, I just saw it and knew."

Margaret's lips curved into a rare genuine smile. "Sometimes instinct trumps strategy. Either way, you've got half the room wondering who you are and the other half pretending they aren't looking." She paused, studying Jess's face. "How are you holding up? I notice Tom couldn't make it."

"Work emergency in San Diego," Jess explained, the familiar pang of disappointment flickering briefly.

"Ah," Margaret nodded, understanding immediately. "The curse of the two-career household. Richard's wife stopped attending his events years ago. Said she couldn't bear another conversation about commercial real estate portfolios."

Jess laughed. "I actually find it fascinating. I just wish..."

"That he could be here for your moment," Margaret finished. "I understand." She glanced around the room before continuing in a lower voice. "This industry doesn't make relationships easy. My ex-husband used to say he was married to a ghost who occasionally appeared at breakfast."

Jess blinked, surprised by the personal disclosure. Margaret rarely discussed her private life.

"I'm not saying that to discourage you," Margaret clarified. "Just to acknowledge that what you're building, both professionally and personally, requires sacrifices. The question is always whether they're worth it." She squeezed Jess's arm. "For what it's worth, I think you're navigating it beautifully."

Before Jess could respond, the microphone crackled to life. Chris Webb approached the podium, his confident stride drawing all eyes.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Chris began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the now-quieting room. "Welcome to the official launch of what I believe will become Austin's most iconic residential development."

The crowd settled, champagne glasses stilling as attention focused forward.

"When we first conceived Skyline Austin, we envisioned more than just another luxury tower. We wanted to create a vertical community that would redefine urban living in this vibrant city." Chris gestured toward the windows, where Austin's actual skyline twinkled in the gathering darkness. "A place that would honor Austin's unique character while elevating the everyday experience of its residents."

Jess watched him work the room, noting how he made eye contact with key investors while seeming to address everyone simultaneously.

"Tonight isn't just about showcasing spectacular architecture or innovative amenities," Chris continued. "It's about celebrating a vision of how we live, how we connect, and how thoughtful design can enhance every aspect of our existence."

He paused, building anticipation.

"At the heart of this vision are the phenomenal penthouse residences, which exemplify our philosophy that luxury isn't about excess, it's about exceptional experiences. To bring this philosophy to life, we partnered with Austin Design Group, whose team has created interiors that are nothing short of transformative."

His gaze found Jess in the crowd, acknowledging her with a slight nod.

"I could attempt to describe these remarkable spaces, but I'd rather let the visionaries themselves share their inspiration. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the design team behind Skyline Austin's penthouse collection."

Applause filled the room as Jess, Sam, and Annie made their way to the stage. Though they'd rehearsed this moment, the reality made Jess's heart race.

The presentation flowed smoothly, with Sam discussing the sustainable materials selection, Annie highlighting the smart home integration, and Jess explaining the overall design philosophy. Their coordination made the presentation feel conversational rather than rehearsed.

"We approached each residence as a canvas," Jess explained. "Not for our own artistic expression, but for the lives that will unfold within these spaces. Every sight line, every material choice, was considered through the lens of human experience."

The crowd seemed genuinely engaged, particularly when the screens displayed the virtual walkthrough of the master suite. A collective murmur of appreciation rose at the reveal of the bathroom's seamless transition to the private terrace, where the soaking tub appeared to float above the city.

"The boundary between interior and exterior becomes permeable," Jess continued, "creating moments of connection with both the natural and urban environments. Privacy is maintained through strategic design rather than obvious barriers."

As they concluded the formal presentation, Chris returned to the podium.

"Before we open the floor to questions, I'd like to add that these designs aren't just beautiful concepts. They're being meticulously realized as we speak, with completion scheduled for next spring."

The Q&A session continued with Jess and her team deftly handling a variety of questions. A silver-haired woman inquired about sustainability practices, allowing Jess to highlight their use of locally sourced materials and energy efficient systems. A young architect asked about the integration of smart home technology, giving Sam an opportunity to explain their approach that prioritized intuitive use over visible gadgetry.

What could have been a challenging moment came when a skeptical developer questioned the project's timeline, suggesting the design elements might be compromised during construction. Jess maintained her composure, explaining the collaborative process they'd established with the construction team and the quality control measures already in place.

Throughout the exchange, Jess felt herself growing more confident with each response. The absence of Tom beside her, initially a source of anxiety, had become almost empowering. Without his reassuring presence to lean on, she was discovering the full extent of her own expertise and poise under pressure.

As the Q&A concluded, Jess caught Margaret's approving nod from across the room. That subtle acknowledgment from her typically reserved mentor felt more validating than any applause.

Jess felt her phone vibrate in her clutch. Finding a quiet corner, she checked the screen to see Tom's message:

"How's it going? Knocking their socks off?"

She smiled, typing quickly: "Presentation went well. About to have dinner. You?"

His response came almost immediately: "Still in conference room hell. CEO breathing down our necks. Send a pic when you can?"

Jess glanced around, then quickly snapped a selfie that captured both her and the elegant ballroom behind her. She sent it with the caption: "Wish you were here."

Tom: "Damn. That dress is even more incredible than I remembered. Every man there must be cursing me."

Jess: "Stop it. Very professional crowd."

Tom: "Professional doesn't mean blind. Gotta go. Love you. Super proud of you."

Jess: "Love you too."

She tucked her phone away, the brief connection with Tom both comforting and somehow emphasizing his absence.

The dining portion of the evening was arranged with careful consideration for networking. Round tables of eight ensured conversation, with place cards strategically positioning guests. Jess found herself seated between Richard Harrington and a woman introduced as Elena Vasquez, a prominent real estate attorney.

Throughout dinner, Jess engaged in varied conversations, from design failures in luxury properties to Austin's evolution as a luxury market. She was surprised by how naturally she moved between topics, offering insights without Tom's usual social support.

As the main course was being cleared, Chris Webb rose from his seat at the center table, tapping his glass gently for attention.

"Before we move to dessert, I'd like to propose a toast," he announced, his glass raised. "To Skyline Austin, to the remarkable team bringing it to life, and to the future residents who will call it home. May this building stand not just as a landmark on Austin's skyline, but as a testament to our belief that how we live shapes who we become."

Glasses clinked around the room as murmurs of "hear, hear" rippled through the crowd.

As dessert was served, Margaret approached Jess's table, bending to speak quietly in her ear.

"James Chen is looking to develop a property in Houston. He was quite impressed with your handling of the Q&A. Might be worth having a conversation before the evening ends."

Jess nodded. "Thank you for the heads-up."

"It's not just a heads up," Margaret replied, her voice still low. "It's recognition of the impression you're making. I knew you were talented from the moment I reviewed your portfolio, but tonight you've proven you're more than a gifted designer. You have presence, Jessica. That's rare, and it's valuable."

The unexpected praise from her usually reserved mentor sent warmth spreading through Jess's chest.

"That means a lot coming from you," she said sincerely.

Margaret straightened, resuming her more typical professional demeanor. "Well, don't let it go to your head," she said with the hint of a smile. "We still have the Skyline project to complete."

As Margaret moved away, Jess felt a renewed confidence settle over her. The evening had become a series of small triumphs: the successful presentation, the handled challenges, the conversations navigated, the connections formed, all without leaning on Tom's steadying presence.

After dinner, the event transitioned to more casual networking as the string quartet was replaced by a jazz trio, creating a sophisticated backdrop for continued conversations. Jess circulated through the room, accepting congratulations and discussing potential collaborations with interested parties.

As Jess made her way through the crowd, she noticed Chris Webb, Richard, and James had migrated to a quieter corner near one of the large windows overlooking Austin's twinkling skyline. Their postures were relaxed, drinks in hand, clearly in that post-dinner stage where conversation became more candid. She was about to approach them when Chris's words carried clearly through a momentary lull in the ambient noise.

"... and that dress is absolutely stunning," Chris was saying, his back to Jess. "When she walked in tonight, I nearly forgot I was a married man."

Richard laughed, a low rumble that carried the comfortable entitlement of wealth. "Can you blame yourself? I haven't seen legs like that since my third wife, and she was a former runway model."

"Speaking of models," James added, swirling his scotch, "didn't you mention she did some modeling before interior design? I'd pay good money to see those portfolios."

Jess froze mid step, heat rushing to her face. She should walk away. She should interrupt them. She should do anything but stand there, invisible, as the powerful men discussed her body like a commodity they were considering purchasing.

"Those photographs would be worth whatever the photographer charged," Chris agreed. "But the real thing surpasses any image. When she was presenting, all I could think about was how that mouth would look wrapped around my cock."

Richard chuckled. "Christ, Webb, you're worse than I am. And I'm on wife number four."

"Hey, looking isn't cheating," Chris defended himself. "Besides, my wife knows I have a weakness for blondes. It's practically in our prenup."

"That husband of hers is either the luckiest bastard alive or too stupid to realize what he's got," James said. "Where is he tonight anyway?"

"Business trip," Chris replied. "Poor guy's missing quite a show."

"His loss," Richard said, raising his glass in a mock toast. "Though his absence does make one wonder..."

"Don't even think about it, old man," James laughed. "You've already gone through enough divorces. Besides, she's too smart to fall for your routine."

"Maybe," Richard conceded. "But I've yet to meet the woman who's immune to a penthouse overlooking Lady Bird Lake and a private jet on standby."

The three men laughed, and Jess felt something cold settle in her stomach. This wasn't just crude talk. It was the casual confidence of men who were used to getting what they wanted, who saw her success tonight not as professional achievement but as elaborate foreplay.

"I'm planning to dance with her later," Chris said, lowering his voice further. "Get a feel for how she moves. Some women, you can just tell they'd be absolute dynamite in bed."

"And you think she's one of them?" James asked.

"Look at how she carries herself," Chris replied. "That's not just confidence. That's a woman who knows exactly what effect she has on men and enjoys it. The way she moves in that dress isn't accidental."

"I bet she likes it rough," James mused. "The professional ones always do. Something about letting go of all that control they maintain during the day."

"Personally," Chris added, leaning in conspiratorially, "I'd love to see that perfect ass turning pink under my hand before bending her over my desk. Those kinds of women need to be reminded who's really in charge."

"Thousand says you won't close that deal," Richard challenged, the casual way he threw out the sum confirming his wealth.

"I don't need your money, Richard," Chris laughed. "But I wouldn't mind the satisfaction of proving you wrong."

Jess had heard enough. She slipped away, moving quickly toward the nearest restroom, her heart pounding. Inside, she braced her hands against the marble countertop, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The woman who looked back at her was flushed, her eyes too bright, her lipstick slightly faded from the evening.

Had she enjoyed the attention, the power her looks gave her in a room full of wealthy, powerful men? The thought made her feel sick and yet... hadn't there been a thrill in commanding the room, in feeling all those eyes on her?

The bathroom door opened, and Annie appeared, concern evident on her face.

"There you are," she said. "Are you okay? You disappeared so suddenly."

Jess straightened, forcing herself to appear composed. "I'm fine. Just needed a moment."

Annie studied her face. "You don't look fine. Did something happen?"

For a moment, Jess considered telling Annie what she'd overheard, sharing the crude objectification by men who held the power to advance or destroy her career. But what would be the point? This wasn't Annie's burden to bear.

"Just overwhelmed," Jess said instead. "It's been quite a night."

Annie relaxed slightly. "Tell me about it. I just had a twenty-minute conversation with some developer from Houston who couldn't seem to decide whether to look at my face or my chest."

"Charming," Jess replied dryly.

"Men," Annie shrugged. "Can't live with them, can't get multimillion-dollar contracts without them." She checked her reflection, adjusting a strand of hair. "Anyway, just wanted to make sure you were okay. Margaret's looking for you. Something about introducing you to someone from New York."

"I'll be right out," Jess promised.

When Annie left, Jess took a deep breath, centering herself. She couldn't let what she'd overheard derail this evening. This was still her professional triumph, regardless of what Chris Webb thought when he looked at her. She reapplied her lipstick with steady hands, straightened her shoulders, and returned to the ballroom.

For the next hour, Jess maintained her professional demeanor, discussing design philosophies and material selections with potential clients, all while carrying the weight of what she'd overheard. Each time Chris Webb's gaze found hers across the room, she felt a chill of recognition. Not of desire, but of seeing someone's mask slip, revealing something beneath.

As the jazz trio transitioned to a slower number, Chris appeared at her side, his timing impeccable as he approached during a lull in her conversations.

"You've been the belle of the ball tonight," he said, his smile showing perfect teeth. "Would the designer of the hour care to dance?"

Jess hesitated. Every instinct told her to decline, to fabricate an excuse about needing to speak with someone else. But the business part of her brain, the part that understood the politics of success, recognized that Chris Webb wasn't just a wealthy developer. He was a gateway to other projects, other opportunities. Skyline Austin was just the beginning of what could be a career defining relationship.

"Of course," she heard herself say, setting down her nearly empty champagne flute.

His hand settled at the small of her back as he guided her toward the small dance floor where a few other couples swayed to the music. The touch was light, professionally appropriate, and yet knowing what she now knew, it felt like a brand against her skin.

"You were spectacular tonight," Chris said as they began to move to the music. His hand rested at her waist. "The way you handled that question about construction timelines was masterful. Most designers would have gotten defensive."

"I understand their concerns," Jess replied, her voice steady despite her discomfort. "But that's why collaboration with the construction team from the early stages is so crucial."

"Exactly," Chris nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "You understand the balance between vision and execution. It's rare to find both qualities in one person."

The conversation remained professional as they moved across the floor, but Jess couldn't unhear the crude comments, couldn't unsee the mask that had slipped. Every compliment now carried a double meaning, every gesture potentially hiding ulterior motives.

"I've been thinking about future projects," Chris continued. "There's a boutique hotel development in Savannah that would benefit from your aesthetic sensibilities. The historic district has strict guidelines, but I think your approach would be perfect."

"Savannah is beautiful," Jess replied, maintaining her professional tone. "The architectural heritage there is extraordinary."

"You should visit," Chris suggested. "I could arrange a tour of the property. Spring is particularly lovely there."

Was this innocent? A legitimate business opportunity? Or was this the beginning of the "deal" he'd discussed closing with Richard? The uncertainty made every word feel like navigating a minefield.

"That sounds interesting," she said neutrally. "I'd have to discuss it with my team, of course. Annie has a particular expertise in historic renovations."

Something flickered in Chris's eyes. Disappointment? Annoyance at her deflection? It passed so quickly she couldn't be sure.

"Of course," he agreed smoothly. "Though I was particularly impressed with your vision. The way you understand how spaces affect people emotionally... it's almost intuitive."

As the song drew to a close, Jess felt relief wash over her. "Thank you for the dance," she said, already preparing to step away.

Chris's hand tightened slightly at her waist, not enough to raise eyebrows from observers but enough for Jess to notice. "The night's still young," he said. "Perhaps we could continue our discussion somewhere quieter? The hotel bar has some excellent private seating areas."

And there it was. The proposition, carefully couched in professional language but unmistakable in its intent.

"I appreciate the offer," Jess replied, her voice cool, "but I should circulate a bit more. There are still several people Margaret wanted me to meet."

She stepped back, breaking contact, and offered a professional smile. "Thank you again for the opportunity to work on Skyline. It's been the highlight of my career so far."

Chris's expression revealed nothing as he nodded. "The pleasure's been mine. We'll talk soon about Savannah."

As Jess moved away, she felt both relief and a creeping anxiety. Had she just damaged a valuable professional relationship? Would Chris Webb take her rejection personally and find another designer for his future projects? The politics of navigating these waters without Tom beside her suddenly felt overwhelming.

For the remainder of the evening, Jess maintained her professional demeanor, though she was careful to remain in group settings rather than one on one conversations. She caught Chris watching her several times, his expression unreadable.

By the time the event began winding down around 11 PM, Jess felt emotionally drained. What should have been a pure celebration of professional achievement had been tarnished by the crude reality of being a beautiful woman in a male dominated industry.

Margaret found her as she was preparing to leave. "You did exceptionally well tonight," the older woman said. "I heard nothing but praise for your presentation and your designs."

"Thank you," Jess replied sincerely. "That means a lot."

Margaret studied her face for a moment. "You seem troubled. Is everything alright?"

Jess hesitated. Should she tell Margaret what she'd overheard? Would her mentor understand, offer solidarity, perhaps even advice on how to handle the situation? Or would it be perceived as naiveté, an inability to navigate the realities of their industry?

"Just tired," Jess said finally. "It's been a long week."

Margaret nodded, though her eyes suggested she sensed there was more. "Well, get some rest. Monday morning, we start the real work of bringing these designs to life."

Outside, Jess waited for her Uber, the night air cool against her skin. Her phone vibrated with a text from Tom:

"Still up. Call me when you're home? Want to hear all about your big night."

Jess stared at the message, suddenly unsure what she would tell him. How could she describe an evening that had been both triumphant and deeply unsettling? Would Tom understand her conflicted feelings, or would his protective instincts overshadow everything else?