Page 11 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

Emily nods.

"Perfect timing."

She turns back to me with another warm smile.

"They're ready for you now."

I stand, smoothing the front of my navy pencil skirt out of habit rather than necessity. My cream silk blouse still looks crisp despite the drive into the city, and I silently thank myself for choosing the navy blazer instead of the charcoal one hanging beside it in my closet. It's tailored enough to make me feel polished without looking overly formal. More importantly, it's comfortable. Interviews can stretch for hours, and I've learned long ago that confidence starts with feeling like myself rather than dressing for someone else's expectations.

Emily leads me down another hallway, this one noticeably quieter than the last. The offices become larger, the artwork a little more curated, the conversations behind closed doors almost inaudible. Despite the prestige of the floor, there isn't an air of intimidation. It feels lived in. People greet one another by first name. An executive walking in the opposite direction pauses long enough to hold a door open for an assistant balancing two coffee trays before continuing toward the elevators.

Little moments like that matter.

Company culture rarely reveals itself during formal interviews. It lives in the seconds between them.

Emily stops outside another office, this one slightly smaller than the one I'd been waiting in.

She knocks once.

A familiar voice answers from inside.

"Come in."

Emily opens the door and gestures for me to enter.

"Sophie Callahan is here."

The office is flooded with natural light. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the Manhattan skyline behind an expansive desk crafted from dark walnut, though it's the seating area near the windows that immediately draws my attention. Instead of positioning guests across a desk—a subtle reminder of hierarchy—the room is arranged around two sofas facing one another with a low coffee table between them. It feels more like the living room of an elegant home than the office of a corporate executive.

A man rises from one of the sofas the moment I step inside. He smiles easily. Genuinely.

"Sophie?"

"Yes."

He closes the distance between us with an outstretched hand.

"I'm Adrian Blackwell."

His handshake is firm without being performative, accompanied by the kind of smile that reaches his eyes almost immediately. He's exactly as I'd expected from every interview and photograph I'd ever seen—tall, impeccably dressed, dark raven hair with blue eyes and a firm jawline. He is effortlessly handsome—but photographs have a way of flattening people into polished versions of themselves.

In person, Adrian possesses something cameras struggle to capture: Ease.

He has the rare ability to make someone feel as though they've arrived exactly where they're supposed to be.

"It's nice to finally meet you," I say.

"You too."

He motions toward the seating area.

"Please. Sit wherever you'd like."

I choose the sofa opposite his while Emily quietly excuses herself, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Adrian settles comfortably into the sofa across from me, crossing one ankle over his knee.

"I hope the trip into the city wasn't too painful."

"It was surprisingly uneventful," I reply with a small smile.