Chapter 2 — Stepping into the Game

Tessa

The Workshop Loft smelled faintly of coffee and cologne, an incongruous blend that somehow worked. Tessa slipped through the glass doors, adjusting the strap of her bag. Her fingers brushed the frayed leather—a tactile reminder of who she was beneath the polished exterior of “Mallory.” Her sharp hazel eyes scanned the room, absorbing every detail while keeping her expression neutral, a mask of polite curiosity.

The space was a study in contrasts: exposed brick walls and steel beams met plush leather chairs and soft, strategic lighting, designed to create just enough intimacy without losing its edge. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline, where the golden hues of twilight reflected off glass towers. It was immaculate, calculated—like its owner.

Elliot Hartley stood near the front, speaking to a small group of attendees. His fitted blazer and dark jeans exuded effortless confidence, and he moved with the kind of unhurried grace that didn’t just draw attention—it commanded it. His dark brown hair was meticulously styled, and his piercing green eyes swept the room, missing nothing. When his gaze briefly landed on her, Tessa’s stomach tightened. She forced herself to breathe evenly, settling into the role she’d rehearsed. Tonight, she wasn’t Tessa Monroe, investigative journalist.

She was Mallory Jones.

The men lingering near the entrance caught her attention. A few chatted in low tones, their voices tinged with nervousness, while others fidgeted, pretending to check their phones. Their awkward postures and ill-fitting jackets told her more than words could: they were here to transform themselves, to arm themselves with Elliot’s promises of control and confidence. Rejection, loneliness, desperation—it was all written across their faces in ways they likely didn’t realize. Tessa’s chest tightened. They weren’t predators. Not yet. But they were here to learn.

She adjusted her shoulders and approached the check-in table, where a lanky young man with sandy brown hair was wrestling with a clipboard. His glasses slid down his nose, and his oversized shirt bunched awkwardly under his tie. But there was something disarming about him—a pixelated heart enamel pin on the strap of his messenger bag, a small pop of quirk against the room’s curated sophistication.

“Hi,” she said, injecting a hint of uncertainty into her tone. “I’m Mallory. Am I—uh—am I in the right place?”

The man blinked, startled, before quickly consulting the clipboard. “Oh, um, yeah, you’re on the list. Mallory… Jones, right?” He glanced up, his face slightly red. “I’m Augie. Welcome to the—uh—the workshop.”

“Thanks,” Tessa replied with a tentative smile. His nervous energy was almost endearing, a sharp contrast to the room’s sleek confidence. She made a mental note of him: awkward, sincere, and likely out of his depth.

“First time?” Augie asked, fidgeting with the edge of the clipboard.

“Yeah,” she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I’ve heard a lot about these workshops. Figured I’d see what all the fuss was about.”

Augie’s smile faltered for a moment, but he recovered quickly, gesturing toward the seating area. “Well, you’re in the right place. Just, uh, grab a chair anywhere. Elliot will start soon.”

“Thanks, Augie,” she said warmly, watching as his shoulders relaxed slightly. As Tessa moved toward the semi-circle of chairs, she felt his gaze linger on her—not in the predatory way she expected from this world, but with quiet curiosity, as if he couldn’t quite believe she’d spoken to him.

She chose a chair near the middle—close enough to observe without drawing too much attention. Slipping her leather notebook from her bag, she set it on her lap and ran her thumb over the frayed elastic band. Around her, the attendees began settling in, their conversations fading into a low hum. There were about twelve people in total, most in their late twenties or early thirties. Some sat stiffly, their postures betraying their nervousness, while others hunched slightly, as though trying not to take up too much space. Vulnerable. Hopeful. Lost. Tessa jotted the words down quickly.

The sound of Elliot’s voice drew her attention. It was calm, measured, and just self-assured enough to be inviting without intimidating. He strode to the center of the room with a natural ease, his green eyes sweeping across the group.

“Welcome, everyone,” he began, his tone warm but authoritative. “I’m Elliot Hartley, and I’m glad you’ve decided to take this step tonight. What we’re about to embark on isn’t just about learning a few tricks or tactics. It’s about transformation. It’s about confidence. It’s about taking control of your life.”

Tessa’s pen hovered over her notebook. *Charm is calculated. Audience is primed for hope.* She studied him carefully, noting the deliberate pauses in his speech, the way he scanned the room as if making eye contact with every attendee. His delivery was flawless, but there was a tension in his posture—a slight tightening of his jaw when he thought no one was looking. She tapped her pen thoughtfully. Cracks, maybe. If they were there, she intended to find them.

When Elliot opened the floor for questions, Tessa raised her hand. The movement drew a few curious glances, and Elliot’s sharp green eyes landed on her.

“Yes… Mallory, was it?” he asked smoothly, tilting his head slightly.

She nodded, keeping her tone light but inquisitive. “You mentioned transformation and confidence. But isn’t there a fine line between genuine self-improvement and… I don’t know… manipulation?”

A ripple of unease moved through the room. A few attendees shifted in their seats, their gazes darting between her and Elliot. Augie, near the edge of the group, adjusted his glasses nervously, his fingers brushing the enamel pin on his bag.

Elliot’s smile didn’t falter, but his gaze sharpened slightly, assessing her. “That’s a great question,” he said after a brief pause, his voice steady. “And it’s one I get a lot. What we teach here isn’t about manipulation. It’s about understanding social dynamics and presenting your best self. Think of it as leveling the playing field.”

Tessa feigned thoughtful consideration, tilting her head. “But doesn’t that run the risk of losing authenticity? If we’re all learning how to ‘present’ ourselves, how do we know what’s real?”

For a fraction of a second, Elliot hesitated. The moment passed quickly, but Tessa caught it—the faint flicker of something unguarded before his mask slipped back into place. He leaned forward slightly, his tone softening. “Authenticity and confidence aren’t mutually exclusive. Sometimes, we need to step outside our comfort zones to discover who we really are.”

The room seemed to relax at his response, nodding along as if reassured. Tessa kept her expression neutral, her pen moving quickly across the page: *Deflects criticism by reframing. Keeps control of narrative.*

As the session continued, Tessa found her attention drifting to Augie. He had arrived late, stumbling into the room with an apologetic smile, but now he sat quietly, listening intently. There was a vulnerability about him, a quiet sincerity that set him apart from the others. When Elliot encouraged the group to introduce themselves, Augie hesitated, gripping the strap of his bag.

“I’m Augie,” he said finally, his voice soft. “I’m here because… well, I guess I just want to feel more comfortable being myself around people. I’ve never been great at this stuff, but I’m trying.”

Elliot nodded, his gaze softening. “That’s a good place to start, Augie. Trying is how we grow.”

The simplicity of the exchange lingered in Tessa’s mind. For all Elliot’s polished charm, it was moments like this—small, genuine connections—that felt the most real.

As the workshop wound down, Tessa lingered near the door. Elliot passed by, his gaze flicking briefly to her notebook before meeting her eyes. “Mallory,” he said with a subtle nod. “Good question earlier. I hope to hear more from you.”

She forced a polite smile. “Thanks. I’ll try to keep them coming.”

Her pulse quickened as she stepped into the cool night air. The city hummed around her, lights glittering against the dark sky. She walked briskly toward the bar where Delilah was waiting.

Sliding into the booth, Tessa exhaled. Delilah looked up, her bold geometric earrings swaying as she tilted her head. “Well?” she asked, her dark eyes narrowing with curiosity. “How was it?”

Tessa swirled her drink absently, her fingers brushing the frayed edge of her notebook. “Complicated. Elliot’s… smooth. But the guys? Most of them just seem lost. Lonely.”

Delilah raised an eyebrow. “And Elliot?”

Tessa hesitated, her jaw tightening. “He’s not what I expected. There’s something under the surface. Cracks, maybe. I just don’t know how deep they go.”

Delilah leaned forward, her tone gentle but firm. “Be careful, Tess. Once you start digging, you might not like what you find.”

Tessa met her gaze steadily. “I need to know the truth, Del. No matter what it costs.”

The words hung between them as the city pulsed outside, a restless rhythm of ambition and danger. Tessa clutched her notebook tighter, bracing herself for what lay ahead.