Finally, he nods. “Enzo, take Remy to her office.”
Enzo stands immediately. “Come on.”
Not a man of many words. Noted.
I gather my portfolio with hands that are steadier than they should be and follow Enzo toward the door.
“This is bullshit,” Damon says, but his voice has lost some of its edge.
Ansel’s shoulders relax fractionally. “We’re running a company. Try to remember that.”
His eyes meet mine for half a second, a clear reminder of where loyalties lie.
I don’t look back as Enzo opens the door and gestures me through.
The hallway feels too bright after the tension in that conference room. Enzo walks beside me, not speaking, and I focus on keeping my breathing even, on not falling apart in front of him.
We pass a cluster of employees near the coffee station. I’m hyperaware of their glances, their not-quite-whispered conversation.
“—heard she’s working directly with the Jacobs brothers?—”
“—must be someone important?—”
“Did youseeher? I’d let her audit my systems any day?—”
Ugh. Charming, really.
The last comment comes from a guy in his late twenties, with a smug smile. His buddy laughs, and I feel my face heat.
Enzo stops walking.
He turns, and the casual sprawl from earlier is completely gone. He’s taller than I realized, broader, and when he looks at the guy who made the comment, there’s something predatory in his expression.
“You got something to say about our new senior security consultant?” His voice is quiet, conversational almost, but every word is edged with warning.
The guy’s smile falters. “Um, no, I was just?—”
“Just what?” Enzo takes a single step toward him. “Just making sure everyone within earshot knows you’re an unprofessional asshole?”
“Enzo, man, I didn’t mean?—”
Okay. Maybe Enzo’s my favorite.
“This company has standards. Stop being a dick. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir. No problem.” The guy backs up, his buddy already halfway down the hall.
Enzo turns back to me, his expression already cooling. He gestures toward the elevators. “Your office is on the sixth floor. Corner space, lots of windows. You’ll hate how much sun you get in the afternoon, but the view’s decent.”
I follow, not sure what to make of that. I want to say something, but his posture makes it clear the moment is already over.
I don’t say anything. His defending me wasn’t personal, and we both know it. He doesn’t tolerate unprofessionalism.
He jabs the elevator button without looking at me.
We ride down three floors in silence. When the doors open, Enzo leads me through another maze of glass and chrome until we stop at an office that’s easily twice the size of any space I’ve ever worked in.
Don’t gape. Don’t gape.
