She flashed a warm smile, her eyes twinkling with recognition. "Jackson? Is that really you?" He nodded, still struggling to connect the dots. "Yeah, that's me. I'm sorry, but I'm having a bit of trouble..." The woman's smile widened. "Oh, don't worry! I wasn't sure myself at first. I saw you in the lobby earlier and thought, 'No way, that can't be Jackson.' But then I couldn't shake the feeling, you know? So I decided to see if it was you. Crazy coincidence, huh?" "Yeah, talk about a small world. I'm sure I've seen you before, but I'm drawing a complete blank on where. It's like my brain decided to take a coffee break at the worst possible moment." The woman laughed. "Oh, don't beat yourself up about it. It has been a while. I'm Isabella. We used to work together at Delta Corp, remember? It was about ten years ago now. I left the job not long after we met." Suddenly, the fog in Jackson's mind cleared. Images flashed through his head: a bustling office, the smell of stale coffee,

Natalia eased her car into a parking spot outside the luxury hotel, its gleaming facade a stark contrast to the dimming evening sky. She killed the engine and took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was sure to be an interesting dinner. "We're here," she announced, turning to Evelyn. "Ooh, fancy! So, did your mystery actor invite you up to his room?" Evelyn wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "For the hundredth time, this is a business dinner. We're meeting in the private restaurant downstairs." "Boooring," Evelyn sing-songed as she stepped out of the car, her stilettos clicking on the pavement. "You know, I came to this hotel once with my boyfriend." "That's nice," Natalia replied absently, locking the car and smoothing down her blazer. Evelyn's face lit up with mischief. "Want to know what we did?" "No, I really don't need that much information about your boyfriend or your private life," Natalia said quickly, heading toward the hotel entrance. Evelyn trotted aft

They settled onto a pair of barstools. The bartender, a burly man with a salt-and-pepper beard, approached with a friendly nod. "What'll it be?" he asked, wiping down the bar in front of them. Isabella leaned forward, her eyes scanning the rows of bottles behind the bar. "I'll have a gin and tonic, please. Extra lime." Jackson hesitated, suddenly aware that he hadn't been to a bar in what felt like ages. "Uh, I'll have... a whiskey. Neat." The bartender nodded and set about preparing their drinks. Isabella turned to Jackson, smirking. "Whiskey, huh? Trying to impress me with your manly drink choice?" He felt his cheeks flush slightly. "What? No, I just... I like whiskey." "Sure you do," she teased, nudging him with her elbow. "I bet you're more of a fruity cocktail guy. Maybe something with an umbrella?" He laughed, feeling more at ease. "Hey, don't knock the umbrella drinks. They're delicious and festive." The bartender returned with their drinks, sliding them across the pol

"Jackson?" Isabella's voice cut through his thoughts. "You still with me? You look like you're trying to solve world hunger in your head." He blinked, focusing on her concerned face. "Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry. I was just... thinking." "Let me guess," she teased, "still pining over that brunette and your missed chance?" Jackson seized the opportunity for a distraction. "Yes! Exactly. You know me so well." "Oh, honey. You're about as subtle as a rhinoceros in a tutu. But listen, you can't keep obsessing over every pretty face that catches your eye. Before you know it, you'll be old and gray, still pining after 'the one that got away' at some random bar." She linked her arm through his as they walked, her heels clicking on the pavement. "Look, I get it. She was gorgeous. But you know what? This city's full of gorgeous women. Heck, maybe you'll run into her again if the universe decides to throw you a bone. But if not, there are plenty of fish in the sea. And by fis

Jackson pulled into the bank's parking lot, his sleek car looking comically out of place next to the beat-up sedans and minivans. He took a deep breath, straightened his designer tie, and stepped out, feeling like a fraud in his expensive suit. "Alright, Jackson," he muttered to himself. "Just act natural. You're not a time traveler or a secret millionaire. You're just a normal guy with a totally normal banking problem." He strode through the automatic doors, trying to exude confidence. The bank's interior was a beige nightmare, with motivational posters on every surface. He approached the teller's window, his heart pounding. The elderly woman behind the counter peered at him over her glasses. "How can I help you today, sir?" "Uh, yeah. My account seems to be disabled. I was hoping to get that sorted out." The teller's fingers clacked on her keyboard. Her brow furrowed. "I see. It appears there's been some unusual activity on your account. You'll need to speak with our branch ma