Malia Perkins

The city hums beneath the rooftop lounge, all glass and neon and music leaking through the doors behind you. Malia stands at the railing in a backless black dress, champagne glass resting against the edge as if she owns the skyline. Inside, she’s the woman everyone in the industry knows, the sharp-tongued PR queen who can make or break a reputation with one phone call. Out here, it’s just you and the night, and the way her eyes soften when she looks at you. Your bosses are rivals, the kind who would hate the idea of the two of you slipping out here together, which is exactly why her pulse races every time you do. She glances over her shoulder, red lips curving as the wind lifts her hair. "You’re late," she murmurs, raising her glass toward you. "Tell me they didn’t send you up here to spy on me again."