Page 5 of Trained In Sin

Seb

My phone won't stop fucking ringing. I glance at the screen for the fifth time in an hour, Wilson, again.

The developer is desperate to meet and keeps pushing me reschedule after I cancelled on him this morning.

Usually, I wouldn't make a man with that much control over my projects wait, but my mind's been elsewhere.

I silence the call and toss the phone onto my desk, turning back to the city view from my office window. Syren is quieter during daylight. Usually, I'm focused, methodical. Today, I can't stop thinking about her.

Saphy.

The name plays on a loop in my head. Something about the fear in her eyes when she realised who I was. The way she tried to appear brave despite the tremor in her voice. The slight reddening in her cheeks when I touched her wrist at pulse and the way she reacted in the shop the other day.

I drain my coffee, welcoming the bitter taste. This distraction is becoming a problem. The girl from Hartwell Architecture is just a potential asset, she’s access to information that Gordon might be reluctant to provide. Nothing more.

Yet here I am, cancelling meetings, ignoring calls, and waiting for Matthew to report back with everything there is to know about her. I tell myself it’s just for the business with Hartwell.

The intercom buzzes. "Mr. Blackwood, Matthew's here."

"Send him in. "

I move to my desk, deliberately picking up a contract to review. When Matthew enters, I don't immediately look up. Let him think this is routine, that I haven't been waiting all morning for this information.

"Got what you asked for," Matthew says, dropping a folder onto my desk.

I wait a few seconds before setting the contract aside. "Anything interesting?"

Matthew shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "The usual stuff. Employment records, social media accounts, address, financial status."

"But?" I can read the hesitation in his posture.

"But I'm not sure why you're looking into her," he says carefully. "I thought we already had Gordon by the balls."

I lean back in my chair, studying him. "You’re questioning me now, Matthew?"

"No." He meets my gaze steadily. "Just wondering what you’re trying to achieve here. Gordon's already providing what we need from Hartwell."

“It pays to have multiple access points just in case Gordon fucks it up.” I remind him. “Someone directly in acquisitions? Priceless.”

Matthew nods, but I can tell he's not entirely convinced. He's been with me long enough to sense when there's more to a story.

I reach for the folder. "Anything else, without the lecture?”

"She has a boyfriend. A few years together." Matthew watches me closely as he says this .

"Don’t care, that’s irrelevant," I reply, keeping my expression neutral though for a reason I don’t understand, a wave of anger rises in me.

"Right." Matthew pauses at the door. "The investor from Pulse called. Said you seemed distracted during your meeting."

"That’s because he was useless. The man was cowering before he even reached the meeting, the doorman shit him up apparently. He was a pathetic waste of time.”

When the door closes behind Matthew, I finally open the folder.

Sapphire Jenkins. Saphy for short. Twenty-six years old.

Educated at Kingston, degree in architecture and urban planning.

Started at Hartwell three years ago as an assistant, recently promoted to junior editor in the acquisitions division.

Modest flat on the east side of the city, shared with a flatmate until six months ago.

Now lives alone. Student loans, small credit card debt, nothing extraordinary.

I study the photo clipped to her employment record.

It doesn’t look quite like her. It’s too formal, too posed.

The social media images Matthew included are better.

Saphy with friends at a pub. Saphy hiking, hair windblown, smile unguarded.

Saphy with a man's arm around her waist, looking up at him.

I push that photo aside.

Damon Phillips. Boyfriend. Works in IT at some corporate firm Matthew couldn't find much about. No debt. No bills registered. No mortgage. Nothing remarkable in his financial history at all, which is unusual. The man’s utterly bland.

I frown, flipping back through Matthew's notes.

Everyone has something, credit card debt, a parking ticket, an embarrassing social media post. Damon Phillips has none of that.

It's like looking at a carefully constructed persona rather than a real person.

Maybe he moved here from abroad? I made a mental note to have Matthew look further into him.

He could end up as a surprise, and I detest surprises.

I return to Saphy's file. I find her bank statements showing regular transfers to a savings account labelled ‘D&S House Fund’. So they're planning to move in together. How fucking domestic.

My phone vibrates again. Wilson. I should call him back, get this development deal moving.

It's worth millions and requires my full attention.

Instead, I find myself studying another photo of Saphy.

This one at what appears to be an office party.

She's wearing a simple black dress, nothing like the one from Pulse, but she's radiant. Gordon is in the background, which doesn’t interest me as much as it should.

I stand up. I need to figure out why this woman is under my fucking skin.

I check my watch. Gordon should be in a board meeting until two. Plenty of time.

I press the intercom. "Have the car brought around."

"Yes, Mr. Blackwood. Where to?"

"Hartwell Architecture."

*

The Hartwell building is all glass and steel, designed to impress and attract high value clientele. I've been here twice before, meeting with their chief architect about a development project, a legitimate one, for once. I know the layout well enough.

The receptionist recognises me. "Mr. Blackwood! Do you have an appointment today?"

"Just dropping by to see someone in acquisitions," I say with the smile that opens most doors. "Sapphire Jenkins? She's expecting me."

A small lie. No one questions why Sebastian Blackwood would want to meet with a junior editor. My reputation precedes me.

"Of course. Fourteenth floor, acquisitions is on the right. Should I let her know you're coming up?"

"No need. I'll surprise her."

The elevator is mirrored, offering me multiple reflections. I adjust my tie, a habit more than a necessity. The grey suit is impeccable, as always.

The acquisitions department is busy with the hum of employees.

I spot her immediately, bent over her desk, dark hair falling forward as she reviews something on her screen.

She's wearing a burgundy blouse, conservative but flattering. Professional. Composed. Nothing like the woman I’ve seen outside of work.

I approach silently, standing over her desk for a moment before she senses my presence . When she looks up, the colour drains from her face.

"What are you…." she begins, then catches herself. "Mr. Blackwood. Can I help you with something?" She subconsciously ru ns her hands down the front of her blouse, straightening any imaginary creases.

I notice how formal she’s being, and I smile, enjoying her discomfort. "Ms. Jenkins. I was in the building for a meeting and thought I'd stop by to continue our conversation from the other day."

Her eyes widen in shock and I mentally scold myself, remembering she has never given me her surname. She begins to notice the curious glances from colleagues. "This isn't a good time," she says quietly.

"I disagree. I think it's perfect." I take the seat across from her desk without being invited. "I'm interested in learning more about your work here."

"My work?" She looks genuinely confused.

"Acquisitions is an interesting department. You must see all sorts of promising projects coming through."

Understanding dawns in her eyes. "If you're interested in working with Hartwell, I can direct you to our client services team."

"I'm not interested in working with Hartwell again, I’ve already paid a significant amount of money for a significant number of projects," I lean forward slightly. "I'm interested in what you do here. What projects you're currently handling. Who you report to."

"Like I said before, nothing exciting." She says with a frown.

"I find that hard to believe." I glance at the papers on her desk. Development plans for the riverside district, exactly the area I've been wanting information about. "Everything about you strikes me as... exciting. "

The flush returns to her cheeks. "Mr. Blackwood…."

"Seb," I correct her. "We're past formalities, wouldn't you say, Saphy?" her name rolls off my tongue.

"I don't think…."

"Have dinner with me tonight," I interrupt.

Her eyes widen. "What?"

"Dinner. You. Me. Tonight." I smile at her stunned expression. "I own a restaurant relatively near your flat. La Maison. I think you'd enjoy it."

"How do you know where I live? And whilst we’re at it, how the fuck do you know my surname" She hisses, eyes darting around the office.

I click my tongue. "Such professional language Saphy. I make it my business to know things about people who interest me."

Fear flickers across her face again, but there's something else there too. Curiosity, perhaps. Maybe even attraction, despite herself.

"I have a boyfriend," she says firmly.

"I'm not asking you to fuck me, Saphy. Just dinner." I stand, noting how she flinches when I say fuck me. "Eight o'clock. I'll send a car." I touch her shoulder, just for a second.

"I didn't say yes," she calls after me as I turn to leave.

I look back over my shoulder. "You didn't say no, either."

Walking out, I feel more like myself than I have all day. Focused. In control. I pull out my phone and call Wilson back as I enter the elevator .

"Wilson. Change of plans. Meet me at Syren in an hour." I pause, considering. "And bring those plans for the riverside development. I've just had some new insights about that area."

I end the call, watching the numbers count down to the lobby. Saphy's face when I mentioned knowing where she lived, that perfect blend of outrage and fear. I feel myself getting hard thinking about it.

She'll come tonight. Whether out of curiosity, fear, or something she's not ready to admit to herself yet, she'll come. And when she does, I'll have her exactly where I want her. One step closer to owning not just Hartwell's architectural secrets, but her.

And if I'm being honest with myself, which I rarely am, I want to possess more than just access to Hartwell. I want to possess her. Completely.

*

Back at Syren, Wilson is waiting in my office, nervously tapping his fingers on his briefcase. He jumps to his feet when I enter.

"Sebastian! I was beginning to think you were avoiding me," he says with a forced laugh.

"Busy morning." I drop into my chair, not bothering to apologise. It reinforces the power dynamic. "Show me what you've got."

Wilson retrieves a set of rolled blueprints from his briefcase, spreading them across my desk.

"We've modified the plans based on your suggestions.

Reduced the commercial space by fifteen percent, increased the luxury residential units.

" He points to various sections as he speaks.

"The profit margins are significantly higher this way. "

I study the plans with genuine interest. This development could transform a neglected area of the riverside into prime real estate. The kind of project that builds legacies. And makes obscene amounts of money.

"What about the planning restrictions?" I ask, pointing to a section marked for high rise development.

Wilson grins. "That's where your connections come in. We need someone with influence at the planning commission."

"Or someone with access to their architectural plans before they're finalised," I murmur, thinking of Saphy's desk at Hartwell.

"Exactly. If we knew what they were planning, we could adjust accordingly." Wilson taps the blueprint. "This is a multi-million pound project, Sebastian. The committee’s decision on planning will make or break our profit margins."

I lean back, contemplating. The timing couldn't be more perfect. Saphy's department handles acquisitions and planning documentation for major developments.

"Leave it with me," I tell Wilson. "I may have a new angle on this."

After Wilson leaves, I call Matthew back into my office. He arrives with a sceptical expression, clearly expecting more questions about Saphy.

"I need a reservation at La Maison tonight. Eight thirty." I notice his raised eyebrow. "What? "

"Nothing." Matthew's face remains neutral. "Just wondering if this is business or pleasure."

"Does it matter?" I counter.

"Might help to know what kind of car to send for her." He shrugs. "The Bentley says business. The Maserati says you're trying to get laid."

I give him a cold look. "Send the Bentley. And tell Michel I want the tasting menu, with the wine pairings."

"Will Mr. Phillips be joining you and Ms. Jenkins?" Matthew asks, his face perfectly innocent.

The question catches me off guard. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Her boyfriend." Matthew maintains eye contact, challenging me. "The IT guy that you said was irrelevant."

I stare him down. "Do I need to remind you who pays you, Matthew?"

He holds my gaze for a moment longer than most men would dare, then simply nods. "Bentley at 8. Tasting menu. Anything else?"

"Yes. I want everything on Damon Phillips. Dig deep. Everyone has secrets."

"Even IT guys?"

"Especially IT guys." I dismiss him with a wave. "And Matthew? Mind your fucking business when it comes to my decisions on Saphy. ”

If Matthew doesn’t want me pursuing Saphy, he can fuck off and mind his own business. He definitely won’t like the card I left on her desk but fuck him.

When he's gone, I return to the riverside development plans. There's serious money at stake, and owning Hartwells, even unofficially, would save me millions of pounds. Wilson doesn’t need to know I’m interested in both Riverside and Hartwell.

I’m just about to leave the office for the afternoon, when my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number. I open it to find a terse message:

Not sure what game you're playing, but I won't be having dinner with you tonight or any night. Please don't contact me again. -Saphy

I smile, reading it twice. Game on princess. Game On.