Sipping his coffee, Adam was on autopilot, lost in his daily routine, when his phone buzzed. A message.

  The sender was Trevor Homam, and it came with a picture of Adam sitting on the beach, holding an icy drink next to a guy who looked visibly uncomfortable under the relentless sun.

  Adam’s physique hinted at a recent past of gym dedication and light skin familiar with the sun, while the other guy was thin, wore glasses, and had pale skin that practically begged for sympathy, especially considering what he must have suffered in the days following when the picture was taken.

  Under the image was a message:

  You promised there would be no evidence, and yet here’s this picture.

  Adam laughed so hard he nearly spat out his coffee.

  The same man from the picture walked into his office, now looking sharp—dressed in a suit and tie, smelling of cologne—a stark contrast to the pitiful beach image. Yet his face still bore the remnants of sunburn.

  “My good friend Trevor,” Adam greeted him. “Sorry, but I figured someone had to document your one and only trip to the beach in the last fifteen years.”

  “Really?” Trevor chided, good-naturedly. “I’m now the laughingstock of my own board of directors because of this.”

  “Oh, relax, man. I can make it up to you. Tell you what—now that the cargo ship’s stranded on the other side of the world, I guess we’ll have to move the meeting up. I’ll take the chance to talk to those dinosaurs and tell them you deserve a life outside this building. How about that, huh?”

  Trevor adjusted his glasses, smiling.

  “That won’t be necessary if I show them this,” he said, holding up a holo-magazine card. “It’s the latest issue of Loud, and guess who’s the cover star this month?”

  With a light touch, Trevor activated the card, making holographic images flicker to life like the pages of a magazine. The cover appeared, and Adam burst into laughter.

  There he was, in all his glory—past glory—sitting on a construction beam in nothing but his underwear, showing off his near-naked form to the city below. The magazine’s headline read, ‘The Best Models of the Decade,’ with a subheading, ‘It’s time to look back at the career of Adam White—now a successful businessman. We reveal his past in the world of nightlife, parties, and runways… with never-before-seen pictures!’

  “Oh, hell!” Adam grabbed the holo-magazine, his face heating up.

  “Guess that means there’ll be a new wave of young fans coming your way,” Trevor said.

  Adam flipped through the holographic pages, skimming the article about him and the many accompanying photos. This issue of Loud had plenty of him—whole pages with collages of countless moments from his old career.

  “Lisandro Carinae was planning to relaunch his underwear brand,” Adam shared.

  “I see. So, he wants you to model for him again, I take it?”

  “Not a chance!” Adam patted his stomach. “This baby would need months in the gym before it even thought about a runway. No, Lisandro wanted to release special editions of Loud. Y’know, something for the nostalgic crowd. According to him, all of us who had been his models would have our moment of glory again. But I thought this month would be Miguel’s turn to shine, not mine. Guess they changed their minds.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  As he skimmed the article, his eyes snagged on a paragraph with a curious line:

  

  …secrets for someone like Adam White, who, having just turned thirty, has reached the top of Proxima City. If you ask this writer how he did it, my answer is simple: the former model’s prodigious skill at playing the hand he was dealt at birth.

  Well, look at that. Apparently Trevor wasn’t the only one who’d picked up a copy of Loud.

  “Hey, speaking of cheesy lines straight out of a fortune cookie,” Adam said, showing the quote to his friend. “What do you think about this?”

  “‘…the former model’s prodigious skill at playing the hand he was dealt at birth,’” Trevor read aloud. “Well, it’s definitely a cliché, isn’t it? But it speaks well of you.”

  “You think so? You really believe my skill is prodigious?”

  Trevor shrugged.

  “Well… there’s quite a journey from the Adam who grew up in an orphanage to the Adam I met in college, paying his tuition by modeling underwear for one of the country’s top brands, to the Adam now, who’s my purchasing manager. So yeah, I’d say your skill at playing the hand you were dealt is… prodigious.”

  “Well, you know what? This morning someone hinted that I pulled all that off just to patch up my emotional gaps, and suggested I should move on and let go of the past.”

  Trevor laughed. “Sounds like something one of your one-night flings might say.”

  “You bet,” Adam nodded. “Another one who probably thought that, being an orphan, I must be the embodiment of emotional neediness. One serving of disappointment with a side of fries for the lady at table four—coming right up!”

  “Nah, come on, Adam. I think you’re overthinking it. Sounds to me like she was just pissed because she knew she wasn’t going to get more than a couple nights a month out of you and wanted to make a point.”

  “Yeah? Which one? Grace or Tiffany?”

  Trevor gave a puzzled smile. “Were there two?”

  “Ah, forget it, man. Whether it was twenty of them, a couple of hours is all I’m willing to give. I love having my space.”

  Trevor tried to stay serious and disapproving but failed. “I remember when you said that to Brenda,” he said, with a sheepish smile.

  “Yeah, because she wanted to move in with me after only three months of dating!” Adam defended himself. “What did you expect me to do?”

  “Maybe not tell her with the moving truck right outside the building?”

  “That’s because she ignored me the first ninety-nine times I said it. You know me—take it or leave it, ladies.”

  “Well, maybe that whole ‘letting go of the past’ thing wasn’t entirely off,” Trevor said then, slowly, like he knew he was treading on thin ice.

  Sure enough, Adam covered the plastic card with his hand, shutting off the holographic sequence, and waited for his friend to go deeper into it.

  “Well…” Trevor swallowed. “You know how you get when it comes to your space.”

  “Uh-huh.” Adam could see where this conversation was going and braced himself. “Super protective of my privacy, yeah. If I wanted some-one in my face 24/7, I’d ask those bastards from the Markabian Empire for asylum on their island, don’t you think? Unfortunately, Trevor, I like to take a crap with the bathroom door open.”

  “Come on, Adam! You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I know. You mean that since I spent my childhood sharing a room with a bunch of other kids without parents, now that I have my own space, I’m not willing to give it up.”

  “See? There you go.”

  Adam let out a scoff. “So now you’re a psychologist? What is this, some kind of coordinated attack? Magazine poet-thieves, bitter philosophers, and now psychoanalyzing board presidents. Why don’t you call Rita and see if she wants to take a stab at analyzing me too?”

  Trevor raised a hand in a gesture of peace, but Adam knew it wouldn’t last long.

  “Look, I have a proposal for you,” Adam said. “I promised two friends I’d introduce them to Lisandro tonight. We’re going to his nightclub. If you come with us, I’ll promise to reconsider that whole thing about the past. What do you say?”

  Trevor chuckled. “You won’t.”

  “You bet I won’t,” Adam admitted. “But you could use a night out. Because speaking of the past, you haven’t exactly been racking up fun points since you took over the company. And when was that?”

  “Let’s see… My father passed away three years ago, so…”

  “Way too long!” Adam said. “Come with me tonight and enjoy what’s left of your youth and that inheritance your father left you.”

  Trevor looked less than convinced by the plan. “The last time I joined one of your escapades, I ended up with a sunburn.”

  “Yeah, but this time it’s at night. No sun involved.”

  “Alright,” Trevor relented. “I’ll let Jim know—”

  “Nope, no chauffeurs tonight,” Adam cut in. “I’ll pick you up in my car, and it’ll be two guys with two girls out for a night of fun. Just like when we were students, sneaking away from your drivers, butlers, and parents. Remember that?”

  “Do I remember? How could I forget my dad’s sour face every time I played along with you!”

  “Aw, c’mon, Trevor! You were already an adult and needed to rebel. Now you’re all grown up and responsible, so you can’t do that anymore.”

  “Oh, really? Well, take a look at these sunburn marks—my ‘thank you’ for your influence,” Trevor said, laughing along.