The Fox at Courtside

Elena's knees burned, the rubber of the padel court grip still clinging to her skin like bad decisions. She'd been running drills for two hours, desperate to exhaust herself enough to not think about Marcus—or the USB drive currently burning a hole in her gym bag.

"You're too tense," David said, knocking the ball back over the net. He was the kind of man who called himself a "lifestyle coach" and charged three figures an hour to tell people to breathe. "Your opponent will sense it."

Elena bit back a laugh. Her opponent already had. That was the problem with being a corporate spy—eventually, you forget whether you're the hunter or the hunted. Marcus had found her out three days ago at the benefit gala, sliding up beside her at the open bar with that fox-like smile that had first drawn her in. "I know what you're doing, El. And I think I know who you're doing it for."

He hadn't turned her in. Instead, he'd proposed a counteroffer over gin and tonics: help him expose their mutual employer's embezzlement scheme, and they'd split the whistleblower reward. Fifty-fifty, like it was nothing. Like he hadn't just upended her entire operation. Like she hadn't been sleeping with him for three months to gain access to his passwords.

"Earth to Elena." David's ball hit the mesh fence behind her. "You're distracted tonight."

"Just tired." She wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. "Same time next week?"

"Actually," a familiar voice called from the gate. Elena's stomach dropped. Marcus stood there in perfectly pressed workout gear, his red hair catching the harsh fluorescent lights. "Mind if I cut in? David—my treat."

David practically ran to collect his fee. Elena stood frozen as Marcus stepped onto the court, carrying his own racquet bag like he'd been coming here for years.

"You're not running anymore, Elena," he said, bouncing a ball between his feet. "Time to pick a side."