Jackson's mind raced as he processed Isabella's words. Thanks to his bizarre journey through parallel worlds, he was still 28, but he should be 37 to her. Yet here she was, commenting on how young he looked. He felt like he was walking a tightrope over a pit of temporal confusion. "Yep, late thirties," he lied smoothly, praying she wouldn't ask for specifics. "But you know what they say - age is just a number, right?" "Whatever you're doing, it's working. You barely look a day over 30." "Clean living and a deal with the devil," Jackson joked, hoping his nervous laughter didn't give him away. She leaned forward. "So, tell me, Jackson. Are you still as... adventurous as you used to be?" "Adventurous?" "Oh, come on. Don't play coy. I remember the stories that used to float around the office. The legendary Jackson and his... escapades." "Escapades? That makes me sound like a pirate." "You did have a reputation," she teased. "So, tell me, do you still have that stamina? Or have you
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
Jackson stood in front of apartment 809, his hand hovering over the doorbell. He took a deep breath, smoothed his shirt, and pressed the button. The muffled chime echoed from within. A moment later, the door swung open, revealing Isabella. Her hair was slightly tousled, and she wore a casual outfit that looked comfortable and stylish. Isabella stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. "Come on in, Mr. Penthouse. Let's see how the other half lives." He stepped inside and surveyed the apartment. It was sleek and modern, with tasteful decor and a view of the city that, while not as breathtaking as his penthouse, was still impressive. "So," she said, closing the door behind him, "what do you think? Not quite up to your new standards, but it's home." Jackson nodded appreciatively. "It's nice. Really nice, actually." He thought back to his old apartment - the one from before this whole bizarre adventure began. Compared to that, Isabella's place was practically a palace. But he kept t
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
He burst out of the bar, the cool night air hitting him like a slap. His eyes darted left and right, searching for any sign of the brunette. But the sidewalk was a sea of unfamiliar faces, none belonging to the woman who'd captured his attention. Jackson jogged a few steps in one direction, then the other, feeling like a lost puppy. He even considered yelling, "Wait!" but managed to stop before he could complete that humiliation. Just then, the door of the bar swung open, and Isabella emerged, looking both amused and concerned. "Did Prince Charming find his Cinderella?" she asked, joining him. He shook his head. "Nope. Looks like the clock struck midnight, and all I'm left with is a pumpkin." She patted his shoulder sympathetically. "There, there. I'm sure there are plenty of other beautiful women in the city who'd love to be stalked by a mysterious millionaire." He shot her a look. "Thanks for the pep talk. Really, you should consider a career in motivation
"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 sat up, suddenly feeling uneasy. He fumbled for his wallet, nearly dropping it in his haste. His fingers trembled as he pulled out the debit card, holding it to the light like a mystical artifact. "No way," he muttered, squinting at the expiration date. "This can't be right." But there it was, clear as day: 08/25. The card had expired eight years ago. He blinked hard as if that might change the expiration date printed in tiny numbers. But nope, there it was, stubbornly refusing to update itself: 08/25. "What the..." he muttered, flipping the card over as if the back might hold some magical explanation. "How is this even possible?" He ran a hand through his hair, tugging it slightly as if the pain might wake him from this bizarre dream. But no such luck. He was still awake, sitting on his ridiculously expensive couch in his ridiculously expensive penthouse, holding a ridiculously expired debit card. "Okay, okay, let's think this through," he said
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