Chapter 4 We lift as we climb👏💕

The cursor blinked like it was daring her to change her mind.

Leila sat in her robe, hair twisted into a loose bun, coffee in hand, eyes locked on the email she'd spent the entire night working on. Jasmine had passed out around 3 a.m., face planted in a sea of legal pads and chocolate wrappers. But Leila? She stayed up.

And now it was time.

 Subject: Proposed Edits – Engagement Agreement

Hi James,

Attached is my revision of the engagement proposal. I've made some structural and expectation-based adjustments to better reflect mutual respect and autonomy.

Please review with your legal team and let me know if they're open to negotiation.

Best, Leila Smith

She hit send before she could talk herself out of it.

And then, for the first time in days, she smiled. Not because it was over-because it had just started.

Three hours, a long shower, and some overpriced under-eye cream later, she walked into the Rise Up building like a woman on a mission.

The place was buzzing. It always was. That was the thing about purpose-it had volume.

Posters for the upcoming youth summit were half-pinned to the corkboard, interns debated over the playlist for the next community block party, and someone had moved the good markers again.

She didn't even make it ten steps in before Justin, her lead coordinator intercepted her. Late twenties, baby-face charm, always wearing mismatched socks, clutching his clipboard like it held state secrets.

"You're glowing," he said, squinting. "Is that joy written all over your face?"

"Yes, yes, Justin" she replied, tossing her bag onto the reception counter. "Depends how today goes anyways."

"Okay but spill-what has been happening? You've been walking around lately like you've been dating a trust fund in secret."

Leila smirked. "Let's just say my personal life is under... contract."

Justin gasped. "You're not seriously dating a politician, are you?"

"No," she said quickly. "God, no. Worse."

He tilted his head. "A banker?"

"Corporate royalty."

Justin clutched his chest. "You didn't."

"I might've."

"You're legally bound to a billionaire, aren't you?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't deny it either. Gurlll, you are hooked. Super excited."

She grinned. "Focus. Transville team?"

"Confirmed. And Philip updated his Plans. He thinks we should work with Kendrick Lamar now. I sent an email to his team."

"Oh perfect. Keep me posted on that."

"And yes, the interns want to install LED lights in the pantry. Apparently, the snacks deserve a vibe."

She rolled her eyes. "Tell them if they touch my cashew trail mix, I'm shutting down the whole lighting department."

Justin saluted. "Understood, General."

Justin laughed, following her into her glass-walled office. A banner above her desk read in bold paint: "No one rises by themselves. We lift as we climb."

Her desk was a beautiful chaos of post-its, color-coded folders, and a worn leather-bound journal she'd had since the early days-when Rise Up was just an idea scribbled on napkins at a campus café. She'd been twenty-three then, fresh out of grad school with a mouthful of statistics, experience, and a heart too full to settle for corporate ease.

"You know you could hire a real decorator instead of staging your trauma with books and throw pillows, right?" Justin said, leaning in the doorway with his usual dramatic flair.

Leila grinned without looking up. "Oh, I did. You're looking at him. It's called non-profit aesthetic. Very chic. Very broke."

Justin strutted in, his shirt a floral explosion of pastels that would've been illegal in some states. "Still shocked you're not in finance, baby. I mean, you give boss lady-but then you go and save the world. What is that?"

She chuckled. "Couldn't find my soul in spreadsheets. Besides, if I hadn't started Rise Up, how would I have met you? Destiny needed us to co-exist."

Justin flopped onto the green velvet loveseat across from her. "And here I thought I came for the dental plan. My molars are still waiting, Leila."

They laughed. It was easy with Justin. He had a way of making the most overwhelming day feel like recess.

She leaned back in her chair. "We good for the youth summit next week? The Bronx team confirmed?"

"Confirmed and caffeinated," Justin replied, tossing her a file. "Also, heads up-Jamal rewrote his speech and added a rap verse. I really don't know what to do with him."

"Please tell me it doesn't rhyme 'hope' with 'dope' again."

"Girl, he rhymed 'activism' with 'algorithm.' Honestly, I don't even know if it's bad or brilliant."

"I'll take a look." She smirked. "And finally tell the interns no more Tiktok in the community fridge. I opened it this morning and found a ring light inside."

After few moments of bliss with Justin, Her phone buzzed while she was reviewing the summit program.

James Stevens: Got your edits. Can you come by the house? We should talk. Today will be perfect.

Leila stared at it. No hello. No "how are you?" Just business.

Typical.

She texted back: Be there in an hour.

Justin arched a brow. "Trouble in your paradise?

"No, not at all. I will be see you in a bit." Leila grabbed her coat, already half-smiling.

---------

The Stevens estate was every bit the fortress it had always been-impeccable hedges, a gate that opened like it knew your net worth, and the kind of silence money bought.

James waited in the garden again. This time, there was no laptop. Just him, sitting with a folder in hand and that look like he'd already made up his mind. A staff member led her to the garden where James sat. "You came," he said.

"You texted." She replied.

He gestured to the seat across from him. "Let's not do the dance."

"Good. I don't have the shoes for it."

He opened the folder. "Your edits are... assertive."

"I'm allergic to ambiguity," she said. "And being managed."

James gave a faint smile. "Clause six: you removed appearance requirements."

"Because I'm not a spokesperson for a brand I didn't create."

"Clause ten: you added shared charitable leadership."

"If I'm being paraded for goodwill, I should be co-steering the ship." She made a remark.

He closed the folder. "You understand this isn't how our world works, right?"

"Then maybe your world needs a software update." She said, not smiling.

James didn't blink. "You're used to leading. I get that. But this isn't about ego. It's about precision. Strategy. Optics."

Leila leaned forward. "And what about truth?"

"In our space, truth comes second to perception."

She sat back. "That's not a space. That's a stage."

He stared at her for a beat, then said, "You're not like the others."

"Flattered. But I'm not here for compliments."

"I know," he said. "That's what makes this difficult."

He leaned back. "Tell me about Rise Up. I did some research. You're doing real work."

Surprised, she nodded. "Thanks. I started it after working with a refugee center in Queens. I saw kids come in with trauma, no papers, no safety net. I wanted to build a space that wasn't charity-but partnership. Empowerment. I wanted to build security for them."

"Hmm," he said. "And you run this full-time?"

"Yes. And it's not a side hustle or a hobby. It's work. Real, necessary, exhausting work."

James gave a tight nod, almost like he was calculating something.

Their eyes held a moment too long, until she broke it.

"I meant what I wrote," she said, standing.

"I know you did."

"Then we don't have a problem."

"No," James said, rising to his feet. "Just terms to agree on."

She nodded once. "Then get back to me when you've made a decision."

"There's a gala next week. My parents would love us to attend. My driver will be waiting." He said that and walked out.

By the time she got home, the sun was fading behind the skyline and Jasmine was curled up on the couch, in one hand and remote in the other.

"You survived," Jasmine said without looking up.

"Barely."

"Did he implode?"

"He read the edits. He didn't flinch."

"That's worse. Means he's playing chess."

Leila dropped her coat on the chair. "He said it was assertive."

"That's code for 'you scared me, but I'm too proud to say it.'"

Leila laughed and grabbed the wine bottle from the kitchen counter. "God, I hope so."

"You doing okay?"

Leila sat down. "I think so. It's weird. Like I just walked into a room I'm not supposed to be in, but I'm the only one who brought the agenda."

"That's because you're not supposed to survive their system," Jasmine said. "You're supposed to disappear into it."

Leila stared at her for a long second. "Not happening."

"Damn right it's not."

They ate in silence for a while, the TV mumbling in the background.

Then Leila stood, walked to her desk, and opened her laptop. She stared at her inbox. Nothing new.

She clicked to review the sent email again.

Her cursor hovered over the thread.

For once, she didn't doubt herself.

She closed the laptop gently, turned off the light, and smiled.

She hadn't just rewritten a contract.

She'd rewritten the rules.