Melissa's phone rang with the aggression of a debt collector. She glanced down, Merlina's name flashing bright across the screen.
Her lips curved, not in warmth, but in a dry, knowing scoff. "Too late, sweetheart," she murmured, hitting silent.
The ringtone died, swallowed by the buzz of central air and the muted click of heels echoing through the CCL Group lobby. Everything around her gleamed. Glass walls, steel edges, a floor so polished it mirrored ambition.
Melissa smoothed the sleeve of her yellow blazer, adjusted the strap of her bag, and started forward.
The receptionist looked up immediately, all professional poise and polite smile. "Good morning, ma'am. Welcome to CCL Group. How may I help you?"
Melissa's expression softened into something bright and insincere. "Good morning. I'm here to see the Vice President. Craig Lesnar."
The receptionist's fingers paused over her keyboard. "Do you have an appointment with Mr. Lesnar?"
