I finish the sentence I’m typing. Save the document. Then turn.
Derek steps onto the floor and walks directly toward me.
No hesitation.
No scanning.
“Good morning,” he says.
“Good morning.”
He stops a respectful distance from my desk—close enough to speak quietly, far enough not to claim space that isn’t his.
“How are you feeling today?”
I consider the question carefully.
Not the safest answer.
The truest one.
“Steady,” I say. “Clear.”
A small nod. Acceptance without correction.
“I’m glad.”
I notice what he doesn’t do.
He doesn’t reference last night.
Doesn’t frame it as something fragile or precarious.
That matters.
Chapter Twenty-Three
AUDRA
Derek doesn’t move closer.
He doesn’t step back either.
He just… stays where he is, hands relaxed at his sides, posture controlled. Professional. The space between us feels deliberate in a way it hadn’t yesterday.
“I wanted to ask you something,” he says.
The phrasing tightens something in my chest.
Ask.
Not tell.
“Okay,” I say.
“There’s a gala Friday night,” he continues. “The Whitmore Foundation. I usually attend. It's expected.”
Usually.
