I sit down, open my laptop, and pretend to work. Spreadsheets blur. Slides blend. Words dissolve.
And all I see is her face when she told me I'm not the man she needs me to be.
Leaning back, I rub the bridge of my nose, and breathe out a breath that never seems to stop.
I’m the fucking CEO of a billion-dollar conglomerate. The man who negotiated Titan’s Series C while running a fever and a 101-degree migraine. I don’t break.
But this? This is getting damn close.
A soft knock hits my doorframe. I straighten on reflex, armor snapping back into place.
“Come in.”
The door opens, and I expect Logan’s blond, irritating head to appear again.
It’s not Logan.
It’s Carmen Rodriguez, Director of Strategy Development. Emma’s direct supervisor. A woman I personally hiredfive years ago.
Clad in a button-down blouse, dark jeans, her dark hair in a messy knot, she’s holding a laptop under one arm and a cup of something that smells like burnt espresso and despair.
She stops short when she sees me.
“Oh. I thought Logan might still be here.”
My skin heats. “Fucker. I knew the bastard was using my office desk when I wasn’t around.”
“Yeah.” She grins sheepishly. “He says your office bar cart is better than his.” Her gaze drops to the floor and then back to my face. “I didn’t expect you.”
“I could say the same to you.” I nod to the open door. “It’s Sunday.”
“So it is. Yet here you are. Titan’s very own ghosts haunting the 40th floor.”
I give her a look, and she gives one right back. It’s why I’ve kept the director around so long. Carmen Rodriguez has always been annoyingly immune to my presence.
“What are you doing here, anyway, Carmen?” I ask.
She shrugs. “My apartment is above a nightclub. The DJ discovered a new subwoofer this week. I came here to work in peace.” She lifts a brow. “What’s your excuse?”
I turn back to my monitor. “Work.”
“I know what work looks like. That”—she gestures at me—“is not work. That is brooding.”
“I’m reviewing deck revisions.”
“You were staring at the screen but your thoughts were somewhere else when I walked in.” She nods to the glass wall behind me. “I can see your reflection.”
I exhale slowly. “Why are you reading into how I look at my monitor?”
“Because you’re my boss,” she replies simply, “and currently acting nothing like the man who hired me.”
“I’m fine, Carmen.”
She snorts. Actually snorts at me. “Yeah, and I’m the Duchessof Sussex.”
She steps inside cautiously as if approaching a cornered animal she fully expects to bite her. Sitting in the chair opposite mine, she crosses her legs. “Okay. Let’s try this again. What’s going on?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
