I check my watch. 4:30 PM. The presentation that could makeor break our newest tech launch is tomorrow morning, and I’m still not confident in the pitch. I need fresh eyes. Smart eyes. Eyes that won’t bullshit me because they’re afraid of the Sterling name.
“I’m going to the office to work on my pitch for tomorrow,” I announce. “You’re coming with me.”
That gets her attention. She sits up so fast I’m worried she might have given herself whiplash. “Excuse me? I am not.”
“Yes, you are.” I tick off reasons on my fingers. “One, I can’t leave you here alone. Pack rules. Two, you are literally the only person I know with a background in aesthetics and a tolerance for my bullshit. I need a fresh pair of eyes.” I pause, pulling out my secret weapon. “Please. I’ll buy you takeout.”
Her eyes narrow, but I can see the wheels turning.
“What kind of takeout?” she asks, and I know I’ve got her.
“Whatever you want. Thai. Italian. That weird fusion place that puts kimchi in burritos.”
“I know that place. It’s not weird, it’s fucking delicious,” she mutters, but she’s already standing up, smoothing down her leggings. “Fine. But I’m not wearing heels. And I want pad thai. The expensive kind with the real crab, not the imitation stuff.”
“Done and done,” I agree, relief flooding through me. “We leave in ten.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re in my Aston Martin, racing through the early evening traffic toward the Sterling Solutions building downtown. I glance over at Zoe, who’s pressed against the passenger window, drinking in the sights of the city like a woman who’s been stranded in the desert.
“It’s only been three days,” I point out, amused.
“Three days is ninety-six hours,” she counters without looking at me. “That’s 5,760 minutes of looking at the same walls, the same furniture, and the same four alphas.”
“Hey, we’re not that bad to look at,” I protest, feigning offense.
That gets me a small smile, just the corner of her mouth lifting. “No, you’re not,” she admits quietly. Then, louder: “But variety is the spice of life, and I am desperately underseasoned.”
I laugh. Genuinely. I may make jokes all the time, but it’s damn hard for others to really make me laugh. They’re always too busy playing the game.
My gaze slides to her again. It’s one of the things I like about Zoe. She doesn’t simper or flatter. She just... is. After a lifetime of people trying to curry favor with the Sterling name, she is like a breath of fresh air.
We pull into the private underground parking beneath Sterling Solutions, the sleek, 70-story glass tower that houses our corporate headquarters. At this hour, the garage is nearly empty, just a few cars belonging to the most dedicated (or desperate) employees.
“Whoa,” Zoe says as we enter the lobby, her head tilting back to take in the soaring atrium. “This is... intense.”
I follow her gaze. I suppose it is a bit much. The three-story waterfall wall, the suspended glass staircase, the massive Sterling Solutions logo that glows with a subtle light.
“Rett designed it,” I say, leading her toward the private executive elevator at the back. “Subtlety isn’t really his strong suit.”
“You don’t say,” she murmurs, and when I meet her gaze, the usual guarded watchfulness in her brown eyes has softened, replaced by a warm, crinkling humor at the corners.
The elevator is waiting for us. The doors slide open silently, and I gesture for her to enter. She steps inside, turning slowly to take in the panoramic view as we rise above the city. The sun is just beginning to set, painting the skyline in shades of gold and crimson.
“It’s beautiful,” she says softly, her hand pressed against the glass.
“It is,” I agree, though I’m not looking at the city.
She catches me watching her in the reflection of the glass and turns, one eyebrow raised. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Looking at me like...” She waves a hand vaguely. “Like that.”
I grin, not even trying to deny it. “Like what, exactly?”
“Like I’m the pad thai you promised me,” she says dryly.
The elevator comes to a smooth stop at the top floor, and I lead her through the silent, darkened executive suite. The absence of the usual bustle makes the space feel larger than it usually does.
