The morning sun poured through the towering glass facade of Torres & Sons headquarters, casting long golden beams across the polished marble floors. Autumn adjusted the strap of her leather bag as she stepped inside, the faint scent of varnished wood and fresh paint welcoming her.
Her heartbeat steadily but with a flutter of nerves. This was her first day overseeing the complicated tax restructuring for one of the city's most prestigious companies, and the weight of the responsibility pressed gently against her shoulders.
The lobby bustled with executives in tailored suits and interns clutching tablets, but Autumn's eyes searched for one figure,Sam Torres.
He appeared suddenly, his sleeves casually rolled up, dusted with sawdust from his morning workshop. His dark eyes met hers, calm yet piercing, and a flicker of something unreadable passed between them.
"Good morning, Naomi," he said, voice low but warm.
She blinked, surprised by the ease in his tone. "Good morning, Mr. Torres."
"Please, call me Sam," he said with a faint smile.
Her cheeks warmed. "Of course."
The first meeting was intense. Numbers and spreadsheets filled the large oak conference table, but beneath the figures were stories of legacy and family pride Sam guarded fiercely.
Autumn's questions were sharp and precise. "Can you explain this discrepancy in last quarter's materials cost?"
Sam leaned forward, fingers interlacing. "That's from a handcrafted batch. Some costs aren't perfectly tracked because of the artisanal process."
She raised an eyebrow. "That could cause issues with compliance."
"We manage it carefully," Sam replied, eyes steady. "Because quality isn't always a clean ledger."
Their dialogue danced between confrontation and curiosity, two worlds clashing but slowly finding rhythm.
By the end of the day, Autumn left the building with a mixture of exhaustion and intrigue. The city hummed around her, lights flickering on as dusk settled, but in her mind, Sam Torres lingered a mystery wrapped in sawdust and sharp eyes.