Chapter 1 - Rashad
Rent was due yesterday.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
Yesterday.
And that was the only reason Rashad was standing on Sunset Boulevard in a shirt he ironed three times, hoping the creases hid the fact that it was the only dress shirt he had left that still fit.
Two years ago, he had a job.
A real one.
Corporate.
Stiff.
Cold.
The kind of place where smiling felt like a violation of company policy.
Now he had odd jobs, overdue bills, and a college degree sitting in a box under his bed like a reminder of everything he wasn’t using.
“Bro, you can’t keep doing this,” Tony told him last week, leaning against Rashad’s car like he was staging an intervention.
“You got a whole degree and you out here taking whatever pops up on Craigslist. Enough.”
Rashad didn’t argue.
He didn’t have the energy.
Tony rubbed his hands together, pacing.
“Look… I asked around. Sunset & Co. is hiring. Creative agency. Chill environment. They treat people right. They need a Junior Operations Assistant.”
Rashad frowned.
“A creative agency? Tony, I’m not—”
“You’re not what?” Tony cut in.
“Qualified? Bro, you graduated. You’re more than qualified. You just forgot.”
Rashad looked away.
Tony stepped closer, voice dropping.
“It’s been two years, man. I’m tired of seeing you walk around like life beat you and you just accepted it. Go apply. Worst case? They say no. Best case? You stop looking like a damn ghost.”
What Rashad didn’t know was that Tony had already reached out to someone at the agency.
Amara.
He’d hit her up like:
> “Y’all hiring? My boy needs a real job. He’s got a degree and he’s wasting it.”
Amara hesitated immediately.
> “Tony, I don’t bring just anybody in here.
> If he’s not qualified, I’m not putting my name on it.”
Tony smirked through the phone.
“He’s qualified. Trust me. Just meet him. You’ll see.”
She narrowed her eyes, suspicious.
“Who is it?”
Tony grinned.
“You’ll see when he gets there.”
She hated that answer.
But she sighed and gave in.
“Fine. Monday at 10.
Tell him to bring a resume.”
Tony hung up, satisfied.
He wasn’t telling either of them the truth.
Not yet.
Which is how Rashad ended up here, standing in front of Sunset & Co., trying to breathe like this wasn’t the biggest step he’d taken in two years.
He pushed through the glass doors.
Inside… didn’t look like a workplace.
Not the kind he knew.
Warm lighting.
Soft music.
People working on couches, laptops balanced on knees.
A guy in joggers talking to a woman in a blazer near a wall of plants.
Someone editing a video at a standing desk.
It felt relaxed.
Too relaxed.
Like he’d walked into a lounge, not a job.
He froze, second‑guessing everything.
Maybe he was in the wrong place.
Maybe Tony sent him to the wrong building.
Maybe this was a setup.
He approached the front desk slowly.
“Uh… sorry,” he said, clearing his throat.
“Is this… Sunset & Co.? The creative agency?”
The receptionist looked up, smiling like this was normal.
“Yep. You’re in the right place. You must be Rashad, right?”
He blinked.
“Yeah. That’s me.”
“Great. Hiring manager’s ready for you. Last office on the left.”
His palms were sweating.
His heartbeat was loud.
But he walked anyway.
Because he had to.
He reached the last door.
He didn’t see the name.
Didn’t look for it.
Didn’t even think to.
He just knocked.
“Come in,” a woman called, voice smooth, steady, familiar in a way that made something in his chest shift.
He opened the door.
And froze.
She looked up from her laptop.
And the world stopped.
Amara.
His Amara.
The girl he grew up with.
The woman he loved.
The one he lost.
The one he broke.
Her eyes widened—just for a second—before her expression snapped into something unreadable, professional, cold.
“Rashad,” she said quietly.
Like his name tasted different now.
He couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t think.
He couldn’t move.
All he could do was stand there, staring at the woman he never stopped loving…
in the last place he ever expected to find her.
