The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Jason’s POV:

I was jolted awake at four in the morning by my assistant, a relentless overachiever who took his job way too seriously. Groaning, I rolled over to grab my phone, squinting at the bright screen as he rattled off details about an "urgent" meeting.

"You’re scheduled to meet with Mr. Kingsley at nine," he said, his voice crisp and professional, like it wasn’t an ungodly hour. "He’s expressed interest in the project LBJ has been developing."

Ah, Mr. Kingsley. The man who could probably buy the planet and still have enough left over to splurge on a new galaxy. This guy wasn’t just wealthy; he was the kind of rich that made other billionaires feel poor. And the kind of ruthless that sent chills down your spine if you weren’t careful.

Fantastic. Just what I wanted to do today.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to wake up fully. "Right. Send me the files for review," I muttered, already dreading the hours of research ahead.

Kingsley wasn’t just your typical wealthy businessman; he was a shark. No, scratch that—a dragon. The kind that hoarded wealth, burned down villages (metaphorically, of course), and didn’t think twice about incinerating anyone who got in his way.

I’d met him before, during a deal I helped my dad secure years ago. It was the most cutthroat negotiation I’d ever witnessed. Kingsley had gone through competitors like a hot knife through butter, dismantling their proposals with such precision it felt almost surgical.

The guy didn’t care about stepping on toes—or heads, for that matter. He operated in a league of his own, and if you weren’t prepared, he’d chew you up and spit you out without a second thought.

I remembered the goosebumps I got watching him in action. It wasn’t just fear—it was respect, admiration even. The man was a genius, an evil one, sure, but genius nonetheless.

Back then, my meticulous research had paid off. My dad and I secured the deal, and Kingsley even complimented my efforts. He’d joked—or maybe not joked—that I’d be "a good match for his daughter."

Yeah, no thanks. Spoiled rich girls weren’t my type. I’d take my sassy, complicated, firecracker of a diner waitress over some overindulged heiress any day. Not that I was thinking about Ella right now or anything.

I knew I still had a long way to go with Ella, but that didn’t stop me from sending her a good morning text. Along with it, I threw in a reminder for her to eat something before class. It wasn’t like I had any illusions about us being a couple—or even friends, for that matter. Our current thing was more like... reluctant tolerance? But hey, a boy’s got to try.

As much as I hated to admit it, I was actually looking forward to class today. Not because of the lectures—God, no—but because of Ella.

It had become a weird highlight of my day, watching her pretend she didn’t care if I was there or not. The little smirks she tried to hide when I said something dumb, the way her eyes would narrow when she thought I was being too cocky... yeah, I lived for that.

But duty called, and Kingsley wasn’t the type of guy you blew off for a college class. Still, the idea of not seeing her bugged me more than it should.

"She’s probably glad I’m not showing up," I muttered to myself as I pulled out my laptop to dive into the project files.

Kingsley’s interest in our project was a double-edged sword. On one hand, it was a huge opportunity. On the other, it was a minefield. If I didn’t have every detail memorized and every angle covered, he’d rip the proposal apart and walk away without so much as a second glance.

I spent hours poring over the files, researching every aspect of the project and predicting potential questions he might throw at me. My assistant kept feeding me updates and reminders, but I barely registered them.

By the time I wrapped up my first round of research, it was 7:30. I checked my phone. No response. Of course, there wasn’t. What was I expecting? Ella texting back with a cheerful "Good morning, Jason"? Yeah, right. But I could always lie to myself and pretend she wasn’t up yet. After all, her first class didn’t start until ten.

I sighed and dragged myself out of my couch. I had to head to the LBJ office anyway. There was more work to be done, and my assistant had mentioned something about Mr. Kingsley handling the logistics for where we’d meet later. Apparently, the guy didn’t want anyone knowing he was in the country.

Smart move on his part. Kingsley was a big deal—huge, actually—and if word got out he was here, it’d cause a frenzy. The man moved with the kind of stealth you’d expect from someone who could single-handedly shift the economy.

The office felt... different. It had been a while since I last swung by, and now, everyone knew I was the CEO. The stares, the subtle nods of acknowledgment, the whispered conversations as I passed—it was all there. I still wasn’t used to it, honestly.

My assistant was waiting for me when I walked in, files in hand and an agenda laid out on the sleek conference table. "Here are some additional documents Mr. Kingsley might bring up during the meeting," he said, handing over a thick stack of papers. "These could give us an advantage in negotiations."

I flipped through them quickly. Numbers, projections, and analyses—it was a lot, even for someone like me. But if this deal was as big as I thought it was, I had to be ready for anything Kingsley threw my way.

At 8:30, my resolve cracked. I couldn’t help myself. Pulling out my phone, I fired off another text to Ella.

Jason: So you’re just going to ghost me? Rude.

Was it desperate? Maybe. But you can’t blame a guy for trying, right? I could already picture her rolling her eyes at the message, muttering something sarcastic under her breath. She probably wouldn’t reply, but I’d sent it anyway.

I buried myself in the files, going over every detail again and again. By now, I had a pretty good idea of what Kingsley would expect from us. He wasn’t the type to waste time with pleasantries; he wanted results, and he wanted them fast.

The project we were pitching wasn’t just a business deal—it was a potential game-changer. If we nailed this, it would put LBJ on a whole new level. The stakes were massive, and so was the pressure.

But in the middle of all that prep, my mind kept wandering back to Ella. What was she doing right now? Was she already up, sipping coffee and pretending she didn’t care about my text? Or maybe she was still asleep, completely oblivious to my attempts to get her attention.

By 9:15, there was still no response.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at my phone like it would magically light up with a message from her. It didn’t.

"Focus, Jason," I muttered to myself, flipping back to the section on competitor analysis. But no matter how hard I tried, a part of me was stuck on the fact that she hadn’t replied.

Maybe she was ignoring me on purpose. Or maybe she really didn’t care. Either way, it stung more than I wanted to admit.

But hey, there was always tomorrow, right?

By the time the meeting rolled around, I felt like I could recite the entire proposal in my sleep.

Kingsley’s choose a place that was as intimidating as the man himself—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a massive mahogany desk that probably cost more than my car, and a cold, clinical atmosphere that screamed "power."

He greeted me with a firm handshake and a sharp look that felt like it could see right through me.

"Jason," he said, his deep voice echoing in the spacious room. "Let’s see if you’ve inherited your father’s talent for business. The last time you didn’t disappoint me I hope you won’t ruin the image."

No pressure, right?

The meeting went better than I expected. Kingsley grilled me on every detail, but I held my ground, answering his questions with confidence. I even managed to throw in a few counterpoints of my own, which earned me a rare nod of approval.

By the time it was over, I was mentally exhausted but relieved.

"You’ve done your homework," Kingsley said, his tone begrudgingly impressed. "I’ll give your proposal some thought."

That was the closest thing to a compliment you could expect from a guy like him.

As I left Kingsley’s office he had set up for the meeting, since he wasn’t a resident here, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. I’d faced the dragon of business world and lived to tell the tale.