As Hank stepped out of the elevator, a wave of satisfaction washed over him. The polished steel doors slid shut behind him with a soft hiss, and there she was… Tina. Waiting.

  She rose slowly from the sleek leather chair, her posture relaxed but intentional. The flick of her eyes said everything: she’d been watching, waiting, calculating. Her shirt was unbuttoned just enough to hint without giving away, and her smile held a delicate balance between charm and challenge.

  “Well, well,” she purred, her voice smooth as silk. “So, you’re the new Director.”

  Gone was the frown she'd worn before… this was something else. Flirtatious. Playful. Dangerous, in its own way. The kind of performance designed to disarm.

  Hank met her eyes, unreadable. “I am.”

  His voice was calm, detached, but the gleam in his eye hinted that he knew exactly what she was doing… and that he wasn’t buying it. Not yet.

  “You wear it well,” she said, her gaze drifting deliberately across his shoulders, his jaw, the confident set of his frame. “I wasn’t sure what to expect... but I’m not disappointed.”

  Hank smirked. “You’ll find I have that effect.”

  She stepped a little closer, closing the distance with a slow sway of her hips. “I like a man who takes charge,” she murmured, tilting her head, lashes low. “Maybe we’ll get along after all.”

  He offered a small, knowing smile, the kind that said I see you. “We’ll see, Tina.”

  For a second, the air between them hummed… part electricity, part veiled power struggle.

  Then Hank turned, walking past her with measured ease, his voice floating over his shoulder. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

  Just as the words left Hank’s lips, the elevator behind him chimed softly and opened again with a whisper of steel.

  Two security officers stepped out.

  They weren’t the usual rent-a-cops… these men had presence. Broad-shouldered, dressed in tailored black uniforms with subtle tech enhancements, their expressions were unreadable but serious, and their movements precise. Every step they took was calculated and calm, the kind of calm that came from training and authority.

  Tina’s smile faltered.

  Her eyes darted between Hank and the approaching officers, uncertainty flickering behind her carefully applied mascara. “Oh,” she said, her voice tightening. “I see now. It was all a ploy.” She took a step back, her voice rising in pitch. “Who the hell are you really?”

  Hank didn’t flinch. His smirk deepened into something colder, more dangerous. “Oh, they’re not here for me,” he said, his voice low and silk-smooth, laced with amusement.

  The lead officer stepped forward, giving Hank a respectful nod. “Mr. Avery,” he said. “Miss Hanigan told us you’d be here. She asked us to deliver a message.”

  Hank didn’t look away from Tina. He didn’t have to. “Go ahead,” he said, casually, like he was ordering coffee.

  “She said the card has a five-hundred-thousand limit,” the officer replied, professional and composed. “And you should pick up at least four suits before Monday. Her words were: You have to look your best, after all.”

  Tina stared at him, lips parting slightly. The shift in power was undeniable now, pressing down on her like a weight.

  Hank gave the officer a small nod. “Tell Constance I appreciate the reminder.”

  The officer gave the faintest of smiles. “Just passing along the message, sir.”

  Then Hank turned fully toward Tina, the last of his patience gone. His voice was calm… chilling in its calmness. “And as for you, Miss Nelson… you’re fired.”

  The words landed like a slap.

  “What the hell do you mean?” Tina shrieked, stumbling forward, fury rising like a tidal wave. “You can’t… you can’t fire me!”

  Her voice cracked under the pressure of disbelief and desperation, her face contorting as the mask slipped completely. All the flirtation, the manipulation… it was gone now. Stripped away.

  Hank didn’t blink. “I just did.”

  She lunged toward him, but the officers stepped in smoothly, silently… blocking her path with professional precision. No force, just presence.

  “You’re making a mistake!” she shouted, voice cracking, hands shaking. “You don’t know how things work here!”

  Hank finally gave her one last look. Cold. Final. “No, Tina,” he said, “I know exactly how they used to work.”

  He turned without another word and walked away, the security officers standing between him and the ruins of what Tina had once been.

  Hank’s smile widened into something razor-sharp as he reached the doorway. He paused, half-turned, and let the full weight of his gaze settle on Tina. The smirk on his lips was cruel… calculated.

  “Remember the greeting you were taught during orientation?” he asked, his voice calm but edged with ice. “It seems you’ve forgotten it. Because today, when I arrived… you were anything but welcoming.”

  The chill in his tone cut deeper than any raised voice could have. No fury, no anger… just pure, controlled disdain.

  Then he turned fully toward the door, his stride smooth, deliberate. Power radiated from every movement.

  “Oh,” he said over his shoulder, like it was an afterthought. “And Tina… don’t forget to leave your access card with security before you go.”

  Final. Dismissive. The kind of line that didn't leave room for questions.

  Tina stood frozen, color draining from her face as the weight of humiliation sank in.

  Without another glance, Hank walked out, the doors parting for him like they recognized the shift in authority.

  The two security officers didn’t need instructions. They stepped forward with quiet efficiency, their expressions unreadable. One of them gestured subtly toward her desk.

  There was no shouting. No scene.

  Just the quiet, crushing sound of someone being removed from a world they thought they controlled.

  And Hank never looked back.

  ---

  It was two hours later that Hank found himself at the beach, the salty air thick with the energy of the volleyball tournament. In front of him stood the ticket booth. He walked up, holding the flyer the girls had given him, a subtle smile playing on his lips.

  "Good afternoon, sir. Here for the volleyball tournament?" the young lady at the booth asked, her tone bright and welcoming.

  He smiled, his gaze sweeping over the bustling scene. "Yes, actually I am. One of the teams invited me to come and take pictures," he said, showing her the flyer.

  She looked at it, her eyes widening slightly. "Oh right, the Miami team told us you were coming. @HankShootsReal, right?" she asked, a hint of excitement in her voice.

  Hank nodded, his smile widening, and handed her a business card, the sleek black card a stark contrast to the colorful tournament flyers. "I am," he confirmed.

  She smiled, her eyes lingering on his for a moment longer than necessary. "Your ticket is covered. Welcome to the San Diego Volleyball Tournament," she said, her tone warm and inviting.

  Hank smiled, a genuine, appreciative smile, and walked in, the energy of the tournament hitting him like a wave. Right away, he saw girls everywhere. Athletic bodies clad in tight volleyball shorts and even tighter shirts, their movements fluid and powerful. It was a feast for the eyes, a perfect opportunity for his photography. Young, toned bodies, a vibrant display of athleticism and beauty. This was definitely the perfect time to be here. The guys would play tomorrow, but it was today that held his attention. He walked around, his camera bag slung over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the scene.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "Hank!" he heard someone call, the voice bright and enthusiastic. He turned around, and there stood Doria, her smile radiant, her presence a welcome sight. He smiled and walked over to her, his gaze lingering on her for a moment. "So, did the girls give you a hard time?" he asked, his tone teasing.

  She smirked, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Yeah, but after I told them everything... well, let's just say you might get an invite or two for tonight," she said, her voice dropping to a suggestive whisper.

  Hank chuckled, a low, appreciative sound. "Well, I'd rather have another go with you," he said, his voice laced with playful flirtation.

  She blushed, a becoming flush that heightened her allure. "I think that can be arranged," she whispered back, her eyes sparkling with promise.

  Hank smiled, the thought of having Doria again definitely something to look forward to. She guided him over to their tent, well, it was more like a canopy, providing a sliver of shade from the intense sun. The girls all looked up as he approached, their faces a mixture of curiosity and anticipation.

  The young, short-haired blond, her energy practically radiating off her, jumped up, her eyes bright and eager. "Hank, you came!" she squealed, her voice a playful mix of surprise and delight.

  Hank smiled, his gaze lingering on her for a moment, remembering what Doria had said about her. "Yeah, I made a promise, and I pride myself on keeping my promises," he said, his eyes meeting hers, a hint of challenge in his tone.

  She smiled, a confident, almost flirtatious smile. "We're playing in ten minutes. You came just in time," Courtney said, her voice laced with playful invitation.

  Hank smiled, his eyes scanning the group. He couldn't let on that he knew her name, not yet. It might give away that someone had told him. "So, I need names for the pictures," he said, his voice professional, though he couldn't help the slight edge of excitement in his tone.

  Courtney jumped up first, her movements fluid and athletic. "I'm Courtney," she said, her voice a little breathy, her eyes lingering on him.

  Hank nodded, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer than necessary, and wrote it down in his notebook. "This is Sandra," she said, pointing to a cute girl in her early twenties, her hair long and brown, her smile sweet. "This is Jennifer," she said, indicating a girl maybe seventeen, her hair short like Courtney's but black, her eyes bright and playful. "And that's Karen," Courtney said, pointing to the last girl of the team, she was taller than the others, long black hair pulled back in a ponytail, her expression more reserved.

  Hank smiled and wrote it down, his gaze lingering on each of them. "Great. So, do you want the pictures emailed to you, or should I just tag the school and add your names to them when I post them on my site?" he asked, his voice professional but with a hint of anticipation.

  "Post them. It will gather so many more likes. You're like a total trending hit right now," Courtney said, her voice a playful mix of excitement and flirtation.

  Hank chuckled, a low, appreciative sound. "Very well. We'll do it that way," he said, his gaze lingering on Courtney, the unspoken promise hanging in the air. Then, he grabbed his camera, the girls got ready, and Hank smiled, looking towards Doria, her eyes watching him intently. "Once the game is done, we get a group photo also," Hank said, the girls smiled and nodded, their excitement palpable.

  The girls took to the sandy volleyball field, and before Hank had even gotten ready, the game was about to start. He snapped the first picture. Karen was shooting the ball off to start the game from the backline. He got the shot just as she hit the ball. It was perfect.

  He took pictures of all eight girls on the court. The opposite team was from North Carolina. They were beauties too.

  One of them kept looking at him. She lost more than one shot because of it. Her teammates were getting frustrated with her. “Come on, Camilla, you can fuck him after the game,” one of the girls from her team hissed.

  Camilla blushed, but she turned back to the game. Hank smirked and took a few pictures of her.

  There was a high layup of the ball from the North Carolina team. It was just over the net when Courtney jumped up. She moved with explosive power, her body a taut line of muscle as she launched herself into the air. Her arm swung back, a blur of motion, and then she smashed the ball hard downward. It hit the sand with a satisfying thud, scoring the point.

  Hank had gotten the picture of Courtney high in the air, her hand just connecting with the ball. This was a one-in-a-million shot. He knew it would make her happy. About a hundred pictures later, the game was over.

  Miami had won with a lead of six points. The girls were ecstatic. It was their first win of the day.

  This was an elimination tournament. You play till you lose, so the North Carolina team was out. “What’s next?” Hank asked Doria. She smiled. “That depends on who won the other games. There are sixteen teams. After the first round, there will be eight, then four, and the last two teams play for the medal,” she said.

  Hank nodded. “Great, I will try to come back later. I will go take some more pictures,” he said.

  Then he headed out onto the beach to see if he could catch another game.

  Hank, still buzzing from the previous game, ambled over to the adjacent court. A local San Diego team was squaring off against a New York squad. A wry smile touched his lips. Home court advantage, the relentless San Diego heat… it all seemed to stack up in favor of the locals. He raised his camera, the familiar weight comforting in his hands, and began to survey the scene. The players were undoubtedly athletic and photogenic, but his gaze kept returning to one in particular. She was a vision, a true San Diego gem. Striking emerald eyes, vibrant and full of life, were framed by a cascade of fiery red hair pulled back in a high ponytail that bounced with every movement. Her energy was palpable even from the sidelines.

  He snapped a shot, capturing her intense focus as she prepared for the next play. Just then, a wayward ball hurtled directly towards her. Hank's photographer instincts kicked in. He tracked the ball, his finger hovering over the shutter. He saw her react instantly, a coiled spring of motion. With incredible agility, she leaped into the air, her body a study in perfect athletic form. Her back arched slightly, her arm extended high above her head, her hand perfectly aligned to meet the speeding sphere. He pressed the shutter, capturing the precise moment of impact. The ball met her outstretched palm with a resounding thwack, the force of her swing evident even through the lens. It wasn't just a block; it was a statement. With a powerful downward motion, she slammed the ball over the net, a blur of motion and determination. The trajectory was undeniable… a point smash.

  The ball slammed into the sand on the New York side, raising a small puff of dust. "Point San Diego!" the referee's call echoed across the court. A wave of elation washed over the San Diego team. High fives and enthusiastic cheers erupted. Hank, still tracking Julie through his lens, captured her radiant smile. It transformed her features, making her already captivating presence absolutely breathtaking. Her eyes sparkled with triumph, and the joy radiating from her seemed to illuminate the entire court.

  Then, as the celebration subsided slightly, she turned. Her gaze swept across the sidelines, and then, it locked onto his. Her smile faltered, her movements ceasing abruptly as if time itself had frozen. Her eyes widened, a look of utter disbelief washing over her face, as if she had indeed seen a ghost.

  "Hey Julie, snap out of it," a teammate called out, playfully slapping her shoulder. Julie blinked, shaking her head slightly, a visible tremor running through her. She couldn't quite reconcile the familiar surroundings with the sudden, intense feeling that had washed over her. It was as if a missing piece of her world had just materialized. She turned back to the game, but the image of the man with the camera was burned into her mind.

  Four quick volleys later, the game was over. San Diego had clinched the victory. Julie's first instinct was to look back towards where the photographer had been standing. A pang of disappointment hit her when she didn't immediately see him. Had he already left? Unbeknownst to her, Hank had simply shifted his position to the other side of the court, seeking a different angle for his shots.

  As she turned slightly, a flicker of movement caught her eye. There he was. He was looking directly at her, a warm smile gracing his lips. Her heart skipped a beat. He started walking towards her, his gaze never wavering. Her palms suddenly felt damp, and her breath hitched in her throat. This man, a complete stranger, somehow felt profoundly significant.

  "Hi," she managed, her voice barely a whisper, betraying the sudden nervousness that had gripped her.

  "Hi," Hank replied, his smile widening, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. "I took a very good shot of you, if you would like to see it?" he asked, his tone casual yet carrying an undercurrent of something more.

  She nodded eagerly, her heart pounding against her ribs. Hank turned the camera around, his fingers swiping across the screen until he found the image. He held it out for her to see. Julie gasped. It was even more incredible than she had imagined. The photo captured the raw power and grace of her spike perfectly. Her body was suspended in mid-air, her focus intense, the ball a mere extension of her hand in that split second before impact. It was, without a doubt, the most dynamic and flattering action shot she had ever seen. It captured not just the athleticism, but the fire in her eyes, the sheer joy of the game.

  "I want to post it on my page, but I need your name or maybe your Insta tag?" he asked, his eyes meeting hers with a hint of playful curiosity.

  Julie's smile returned, brighter than before. "I am Julie," she said, a soft blush rising on her cheeks. "And my tag…" she paused, a mischievous glint in her emerald eyes. "Well, unlike my sister, @webslinger.nell…"

  Hank chuckled, a warm, genuine sound that sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. "Spider-Woman cosplay if I remember right," he said, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

  "She will be happy that you remember her," Julie said, her smile widening. "My tag is @Julie_justagirl," she offered, a hint of self-deprecation in her tone.

  Hank smiled as he typed it into his phone. "Looks like more than just a girl," he said, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary.

  Her blush deepened, a warmth spreading through her chest. This man, this stranger who had captured her in such a powerful way, was already making her feel things she couldn't quite explain. "Hank… why are you here?" she asked, the question laced with a curiosity that went beyond mere politeness. There was a yearning in her voice, a silent plea for a connection.

  Hank's smile softened. "I was invited to take pictures of one of your rivaling teams," he explained.

  "Which one?" she asked, her interest piqued.

  "Miami," he replied.

  She chuckled, a light, melodious sound. "Our closest rivals," she confirmed, a competitive spark flashing in her eyes.

  Hank laughed with her. "Just play your best, I am sure you got this," he said, his words carrying a genuine sense of encouragement that resonated deeply within her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek business card. "If you ever need pictures taken," he offered, extending it towards her.

  Her fingers brushed against his as she took the card, a jolt of unexpected electricity passing between them. Her gaze locked onto his, her emerald eyes searching his. An unspoken question hung in the air. "What if I want something else?" she whispered, her voice barely audible, a vulnerability in her tone that she hadn't intended to reveal. Yet, with him, it felt strangely natural.

  Hank's eyes met hers, a flicker of understanding and something akin to anticipation in their depths. He gazed into those beautiful green eyes, feeling a pull he hadn't expected. He smiled, a slow, knowing smile that sent her heart racing. "Well, it never hurts to ask," he replied, his voice a low murmur that seemed to vibrate with possibility. Then, with a final lingering look, he turned and walked away.

  Julie stood there, the business card clutched in her hand, a wide smile playing on her lips. Something in the way he had looked at her, the way he had spoken, had ignited a spark within her. It wasn't just about the incredible photograph. It was about him. This stranger, Hank, had somehow seen something in her, and in that brief exchange, she felt a connection, a certainty that this was the beginning of something significant, something she had unknowingly been waiting for. He was the man she wanted, a feeling that resonated deep within her soul, even though she barely knew his name.