Inside the CEO's office, the air was silent and cool, smelling of aged leather, expensive paper, and a faint, sharp note of sandalwood cologne. Andrew Sterling sat behind a vast, obsidian desk, his back to the view of the shrouded city. He wasn't looking at the financial reports on his screen.

He was watching the door.

His expression was its usual mask of impenetrable calm, but his fingers tapped a slow, precise rhythm on the arm of his chair. The digital clock on his desk changed to 7:04.

Y/n stepped through, the click of her heels on the polished concrete floor the only sound she made. Her hair was impeccable, her makeup flawless, the lines of her tailored dress sharp against the muted office. She carried a tablet, a leather folio, and a sleek thermos. Her expression was one of serene preparedness.

Andrew’s eyes tracked her movement from the door to the space before his desk. They lingered for a half-second too long on the line of her neck, the fit of her skirt, before snapping back to her face.