XVIII

The office had thinned out, the hum of printers and tapping keyboards replaced by silence and the occasional squeak of someone’s shoes as they rushed for the elevators.

I was still by the coffee machine, staring into my half-empty mug like it held answers to my life choices. It didn’t. Just lukewarm bitterness—very on brand for the day I was having.

I could feel him before I saw him.

It was annoying how attuned I was to his presence. The air shifted—charged, heavier—and my skin prickled in response.

I turned slightly, just in time to see him walk toward me. His tie was askew, sleeves rolled up, hair looking like he’d been dragging his fingers through it all day. And damn it, why did that look suit him so well?

He looked tired. Raw. Dangerous.

“Long day?” he asked, voic……