The corridor stretched quiet and sterile, the kind that made every footstep sound like a confession.
By the time Luca reached the third floor again, his pulse was pounding more from nerves than the stairs.
Noel's office was just one turn ahead.
One more step and anyone could see him.
He froze on the landing, coffee bag in one hand, paper cup sweating through the other.
*Okay,* he told himself. *Think.*
He pictured it—walking in, pretending to be some delivery guy, maybe muttering, "Hey boss, you forgot this." No, too casual. He wasn't supposed to know what Noel forgot.
He tried again, acting out the line under his breath. "Uh, Mr. Noel, someone ordered this for you."
He grimaced. "Right, because that doesn't sound shady at all."
The frustration bubbled up.
He turned toward the wall and thunked his forehead lightly against it. Once. Twice. "Think, idiot."
