Jordan Hayes slouched at her desk on the 42nd floor of Van de Reyes Enterprises, glaring at the blinking cursor on her half-finished campaign brief like it had personally betrayed her. The Midtown skyline glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass—sharp towers, endless traffic, the kind of view that should have felt glamorous but mostly just made her feel small. Her coffee had gone from lukewarm to outright depressing an hour ago. She took a sip anyway, grimaced, and pushed the mug away.
The open-plan office hummed around her: keyboards clacking, phones buzzing, someone in the next cubicle having a too-loud Zoom call about Q4 deliverables. Jordan tuned it all out. She was three days behind on this pitch deck for a luxury skincare brand that wanted to sound "empowering yet approachable," which apparently meant using the word "radiant" seventeen times without sounding like a toothpaste ad. She typed one sentence, deleted it, typed another, deleted that too. The cursor kept blinking, mocking her.
She leaned back in her ergonomic chair—the one the company had splurged on during the "wellness initiative" last year—and rubbed her temples. Brooklyn felt a million miles away right now, even though it was only a twenty-minute subway ride. She missed the chaos of her neighborhood: bodega cats, street vendors yelling about halal carts, neighbors blasting music at 2 a.m. This place was too clean, too quiet, too corporate. Sometimes she wondered why she'd taken the job at all.
Because the paycheck didn't bounce, that's why. And because Elena had practically dragged her through the interview process six months ago, promising "exposure" and "networking opportunities" and "maybe you'll meet someone cute in the elevator."
Jordan snorted at the memory. The only person she'd met in the elevator was a guy from accounting who smelled like old sandwiches and talked exclusively about fantasy football.
The elevator dinged again—farther down the hall this time. Jordan didn't bother looking up. Probably another intern rushing coffee orders.
But then came the footsteps: fast, purposeful, accompanied by the unmistakable jingle of too many bracelets.
Elena Morales burst into view like she was making an entrance in her own personal rom-com. Curls bouncing, phone held high like a victory flag, grin so wide it threatened to split her face in half.
"Jordan! Jordan! Stop pretending you're working and look at this right now!"
Jordan didn't lift her head. "If it's another TikTok of a cat doing downward dog, I'm quitting on the spot."
"Better," Elena said, sliding onto the edge of Jordan's desk and nearly toppling the sad mug. She shoved her phone under Jordan's nose. "Unity Trail Challenge. This weekend. Catskills. The entire company is going hiking."
Jordan finally looked up, one eyebrow climbing so high it vanished into her bangs. "Hiking? As in… trees? Dirt? Actual sunlight? The thing people do right before they remember why God invented air-conditioning?"
Elena did aggressive air quotes with her free hand. "'Mandatory fun.' Hosted by Elias Van de Reyes himself—the dramatic brother. The one who wore a velvet cape to the holiday party and called it 'festive couture.'"
Jordan snorted so hard she almost choked on her own spit. "So we're getting dragged into the woods by a man who probably thinks camo is a fashion felony. Fantastic."
Elena leaned in closer, voice dropping to conspiracy level even though no one else was paying attention. "And rumor has it the actual CEO might show. Alex Van de Reyes. The ice king. Never smiles. Never dates. Just exists to look unfairly hot in a suit and make Wall Street cry."
Jordan rolled her eyes so dramatically it hurt a little. "Please. Billionaires don't hike. They helicopter in, pose for one curated shot with the trees in soft focus, and leave before a single leaf touches their loafers."
"Exactly why you have to come," Elena pressed, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Fresh air. Adventure. Maybe a meet-cute with six feet of brooding perfection in the middle of nowhere. Imagine it: you trip over a root, he catches you, your eyes meet, cue the slow-motion montage and swelling violins."
Jordan laughed despite herself. "You've been watching too many Hallmark movies."
"And you've been watching too few," Elena shot back. "Come on. You've been single since that disaster with the graphic designer who ghosted you after three dates. Live a little. Get out of the city. Touch grass—literally."
Jordan glanced at her screen again. The blinking cursor had won this round. She minimized the window.
Elena noticed the hesitation and pounced. "I already told the team lead you're coming. No backing out now."
"You did what?"
"Preemptive strike," Elena said proudly. "You can thank me later. Or hate me later. Either way, pack hiking boots."
Jordan rubbed her face with both hands. "I don't even own hiking boots."
"Target has them. We'll go after work. My treat."
Jordan stared at her best friend—the woman who had somehow turned "let's get coffee" into "let's move to Manhattan and work for a trillion-dollar company" in under two years. Elena was chaos in human form, but she was also the only person who could make Jordan laugh when everything felt heavy.
"Fine," Jordan said at last. "But if I get poison ivy or a tick or—God forbid—see a bear, I'm blaming you."
Elena fist-pumped so hard she almost fell off the desk. "Deal. Now open the RSVP link before you change your mind."
Jordan sighed, pulled up her email, and clicked the invitation link. The page loaded: a sleek graphic of misty mountains, the company logo in gold, and a big green button that read "I'm In!"
She hovered.
Her weekend plans had been simple: laundry, takeout from the Thai place on the corner, maybe scroll dating apps until she felt too depressed to keep going. Then she pictured fog-shrouded trails, the smell of pine, the quiet of actual nature instead of the constant hum of the city.
And—fine, she admitted it to herself—maybe the tiniest flicker of curiosity about seeing Alex Van de Reyes in person. Not because she was some starry-eyed fangirl. She wasn't. She just… wanted to know what the man who signed her paychecks actually looked like up close. Whether the photos exaggerated the coldness in his eyes or if he was even more intimidating in real life.
Curiosity. That was all.
Her finger moved.
Click.
RSVP: Yes.
Elena whooped so loud someone in the next row shushed her. "That's my girl! Nature's gonna eat you alive and I'm here for it."
Jordan leaned back in her chair, heart doing an annoying little stutter she refused to acknowledge. "What's the worst that could happen?" she muttered, half to herself.
She didn't notice the way the light outside shifted—how a faint, unnatural mist began to gather against the windows, curling like smoke along the glass.
Across the city, in a penthouse office so high the clouds brushed the windows, Alex Van de Reyes paused mid-sentence while reviewing quarterly projections.
His phone pinged—an automated alert from the events portal.
New RSVP: Jordan Hayes.
The name landed like a scent carried on the wind: rain on warm pavement, vanilla, something sweeter and wilder underneath.
His nostrils flared.
His pen stilled.
Marcus looked up from his tablet across the desk. "Sir? Everything all right?"
Alex didn't answer. He closed his eyes for one heartbeat, jaw tight, gold flickering in the depths of his irises.
Then, very quietly, he exhaled one word into the quiet room.
"Fuck."
Jordan clicked a close-up of Alex Van de Reyes from a recent charity gala. The photo was candid—him standing alone on a balcony, city lights smearing into golden streaks behind him. The camera had caught him mid-turn, half in shadow, and those gold-flecked eyes were looking straight at the lens. Straight at her.
She froze. A strange shiver slid down her spine, cold and electric, like someone had trailed an ice cube along her neck. She blinked hard. "Get a grip, Jordan," she muttered under her breath. "It's a photo. He's not actually staring at you."
But her pulse was doing that stupid fluttery thing again, and the office suddenly felt too quiet, too still. She could almost smell pine needles and something darker, warmer—like smoke and expensive cologne—though that was impossible. Completely impossible. She shook her head, laughed at herself, and closed the tab before Elena could catch her staring like a teenager with a crush.
Elena, of course, caught it anyway. "You're looking at him like he's the last slice of pizza at 2 a.m. on a Saturday night."
"Shut up," Jordan said, cheeks burning. "I'm just… research. For science. I've worked here six months and never even seen the guy in the hallway. Curiosity is normal."
"Curiosity," Elena repeated, drawing the word out like taffy. "Sure. That's what we're calling it now." She grinned wider. "RSVP deadline is tonight. Don't be the sad single girl binge-watching true crime while the rest of us are out there ogling the Van de Reyes brothers in hiking pants. You know Elias is probably going to show up in some ridiculous designer camo. It'll be comedy gold."
Jordan stared at the glowing RSVP button on her screen. The confirmation email preview hovered in her inbox like a dare.
Her weekend plans flashed through her mind: laundry piling up in the hamper, takeout from the Thai place on the corner that always got her order wrong but tasted too good to complain, scrolling dating apps full of guys who sent "hey" and then vanished like smoke. Then she pictured fog-shrouded trails, the smell of pine and earth, the quiet of actual nature instead of the constant hum of the city.
And—okay, fine—the tiniest flicker of curiosity about seeing Alex Van de Reyes in person. Not because she was some starry-eyed fangirl. She wasn't twelve. She just wanted to know what the man who signed her paychecks actually looked like up close. Whether the photos exaggerated the coldness in his eyes or if he was even more intimidating in real life. Whether he ever smiled. Whether he ever let anyone close enough to see anything real.
Curiosity. That was all.
Her finger moved before her brain could catch up.
Click.
RSVP: Yes.
Elena let out a whoop so loud someone in the next row shushed her. "That's my girl! Nature's gonna eat you alive and I'm here for it."
Jordan leaned back in her chair, heart doing an annoying little stutter she refused to acknowledge. "What's the worst that could happen?" she muttered, half to herself, half to Elena.
Elena hopped off the desk and slung an arm around Jordan's shoulders. "Worst case? You get poison ivy, a blister, and a story to tell. Best case? You accidentally bump into the ice king, he catches you when you trip over a root, your eyes meet, cue the slow-motion montage and swelling violins."
Jordan shoved her playfully. "You've been watching too many Hallmark movies."
"And you've been watching too few," Elena shot back. "Pack light. We'll stop at Target after work for hiking boots. My treat. Consider it an early birthday present."
Jordan laughed—real this time, the kind that loosened the knot in her chest. "You're impossible."
"And you love me for it." Elena winked and headed back toward her own desk, already texting someone about carpool plans.
Jordan stared at the confirmation email that had just landed in her inbox.
Subject: You're In! Unity Trail Challenge – See You in the Catskills!
She groaned again, but this time there was a tiny, reckless smile tugging at her mouth. "Fine. One weekend of dirt and fake enthusiasm. What's the worst that could happen?"
She hit reply-all just to mess with Elena.
To: Elena Morales
Subject: Re: You're In!
If I get eaten by a bear, I'm haunting you first.
Elena's response was instant: three crying-laughing emojis, a string of heart-eyes, and one bear emoji with devil horns.
Jordan stretched until her spine popped. The skyline outside had shifted to late-afternoon gold, the kind that made even Midtown feel almost magical for a minute. She thought about the hike, the trees, the quiet. About maybe—maybe—catching a glimpse of those gold-flecked eyes in real life.
She'd heard he was even more handsome in person, but it wasn't really about the looks. It was curiosity about the man behind the myth. He was her boss, after all. She'd worked here half a year and never once seen him—not in the elevator, not in the cafeteria, not even a glimpse through a conference room door. The guy was a ghost in his own company.
She closed her laptop, grabbed her bag, and headed for the elevator.
The elevator ride down was quiet. Jordan leaned against the mirrored wall, watching the floors tick by. Her reflection looked tired but oddly alive—cheeks still flushed from Elena's energy, eyes brighter than they'd been in weeks.
She pulled out her phone again. One last scroll through the media alerts. Another headline: Alex Van de Reyes spotted leaving his penthouse, headed to some undisclosed location. The attached photo showed him in a black coat, collar turned up against the wind, expression carved from stone. No smile. No warmth. Just that same unreadable intensity.
Jordan's thumb hovered over the image. She didn't save it. She didn't need to.
She already had the memory of those eyes burned into the back of her mind—like they'd been waiting there all along.
The elevator doors opened on the lobby. Cool air rushed in, carrying the faint smell of rain even though the sky outside was clear. Jordan stepped out, shoulders squared.
One weekend. One hike. One chance to see if the myth matched reality.
What was the worst that could happen?
Across the city, in a penthouse so high the clouds brushed the windows, Alex Van de Reyes stood motionless at the glass wall, staring down at the glittering sprawl of Manhattan like it owed him something.
His phone lit up on the desk behind him. The events portal alert. One new name on the Unity Trail RSVP list.
Jordan Hayes.
The name landed like a spark on dry tinder.
He inhaled—slow, deliberate—and for one impossible second he could swear he caught it: rain on warm pavement, vanilla, a faint wild sweetness that made his fangs ache and his blood run hot.
His hand clenched at his side. The city lights blurred.
Marcus's voice came from the doorway, cautious. "Sir? The quarterly projections—"
Alex didn't turn. His voice was low, almost a growl.
"Cancel my Saturday."
Marcus paused. "The hike, sir?"
Alex's eyes stayed fixed on the horizon, gold flaring briefly in the reflection of the glass.
"Yes," he said. "I'm going."
He exhaled one word into the quiet room, so soft it was almost lost in the hum of the city below.
"Fuck."
Outside his window, far below on the streets he ruled, a thin mist began to curl through the avenues—unnatural, slow, creeping toward the horizon like it knew exactly where it was going.
The Catskills were waiting.