Maya kept her word and contacted Tom's agency. Lisa, with her usual sly grin, handed over the address of the apartment Tom had rented in the city. Maya passed the information to Tasha, who wasted no time.
Determined to thank her savior properly, Tasha planned her visit carefully. She picked a quiet evening when her schedule was light. She left her estate with just two guards, ignoring their puzzled glances.
The drive to the modest apartment building felt strange. Her guards exchanged looks, silently wondering why someone like Tasha—a wealthy and glamorous figure—would come to a middle-class neighborhood like this.
When they arrived, Tasha stepped out of the car and turned to her security detail. "Wait here. I'll be fine," she said firmly.
They hesitated but obeyed. As Tasha walked toward the building, she felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. She had memorized the apartment number: third floor.
Inside, the building was far from the luxury she was used to. The elevator creaked as it carried her up, but she didn't care. She reached the door and knocked.
It swung open quickly, and there he was—Tom, dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans. His eyes widened in shock.
"Tasha?" he asked, his voice sharp. "How did you find me?"
Tasha smiled, her confidence masking the sting of his tone. "Can I come in?"
Tom hesitated, his expression guarded. "This isn't a good idea."
The words hit her like a slap, but Tasha was used to tough conversations. Persuasion was her specialty. "I just need a moment," she said softly. "It's important."
Tom studied her for a long moment, then stepped aside with a reluctant sigh. "Fine. Come in."
Tasha entered the small apartment, taking in the simple furniture and bare walls. It was a far cry from her world of luxury, but it suited him. It was practical, no-nonsense—just like Tom.
Tasha glanced around the apartment and let out a small chuckle. "It's just as plain as I thought it'd be," she said, her tone light. She ran her hand along the edge of a nearby table. "But I'll give you credit—it's neat and organized. Not bad."
Tom, standing by the door with his arms crossed, gave a short nod. "I need to know what brought you here."
Instead of answering, Tasha placed the large shopping bag she carried on the table. Tom's eyes darted to the contents—groceries and foodstuff.
"You're not going to offer me a seat? Or at least some water?" she teased, raising an eyebrow.
Tom blinked, caught off guard. Visitors weren't something he was used to. Without a word, he went into the small kitchen. A moment later, he returned with a jug of water and a single glass.
"Here," he said, placing them on the table.
Tasha smiled and sat on the lone couch. Tom took a stool nearby, sitting stiffly, watching her closely.
She glanced around again. "Your place is pretty empty, but you don't seem like someone short of money. It feels more like you don't see the point in buying more than you need."
Tom didn't respond, his face blank. "What do you want?" he asked again, his tone firmer this time.
Tasha noticed the impatience in his voice but didn't let it bother her. She had expected this. His work wasn't the kind that welcomed casual visits or personal conversations.
"I wanted to thank you," she said simply, meeting his eyes. "For saving me."
Tom's jaw tightened. "How did you find me?"
Tasha hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "I asked your agency. They gave me the address. I also dug up your real name. Tom."
Tom's mind worked quickly. Only one person at the agency knew where he lived—Lisa. He could already picture her smug grin, but he didn't comment on it.
Instead, he stood abruptly. "Fine. You've thanked me. You can go now."
Tasha blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness.