The executive floor stretched silent around me, fluorescent lights humming their lonely anthem.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Shorebridge glittered—ink-black sky punctuated by a thousand golden pinpricks. Below, the city pulsed with life I couldn't reach.
I'd stopped noticing the view hours ago.
My desk resembled a war zone. Reports fanned across the surface, sticky notes plastered to my monitor, and three different spreadsheets open on my screen.
Augustus's shirt clung to my shoulders, wrinkled beyond salvation, with sleeves rolled so many times the fabric had given up and started to unravel.
My hair escaped its pins in chaotic waves. I'd stopped caring somewhere around hour six.
Cup number five sat half-drunk, the coffee gone cold and bitter. I drained it anyway.
Corporate jargon swam before my eyes. Supply chain optimization. Stakeholder value proposition. Regulatory compliance framework.
I cross-referenced another shipping manifest against the regulatory timeline, squinting at the dates.
The elevator chimed.
My head snapped up.
Augustus stepped onto the seventieth floor, jacket draped over one arm, tie loosened at his throat. Top button undone. Sleeves rolled to his forearms.
He stopped when he saw me.
"You're still here."
I gestured at the chaos surrounding me.
"Deadline's at eight a.m."
"That's true." He crossed toward my desk, movements unhurried. "But I didn't expect you to finish it tonight."
My spine straightened.
"Then you underestimated me."
Augustus's gaze swept over the reports, the spreadsheets, and the coffee graveyard. Then settled on my face—really looked at me.
Something flickered behind those warm brown eyes. Impressed, maybe. Or faintly worried.
"How much have you written?"
I pulled up the draft document and turned my screen toward him.
Twenty-three pages. Executive summary, timeline analysis, regulatory breakdown, investor talking points.
His eyebrows rose a fraction.
"Also, why are you still here?" I asked. The question came out sharper than intended, exhaustion fraying my edges.
Augustus glanced toward his office, then back at me.
"We came to work together."
"I know that." I rubbed my temples. "I also wouldn't be surprised if you just left me here."
His jaw tightened—barely perceptible, but I'd spent enough years studying Augustus Evans to catch it.
"I don't leave people stranded."
"How chivalrous."
He moved toward his office, jacket still draped over his forearm. Paused at the threshold.
"I usually don't go home until ten."
I blinked at him.
"It's barely nine."
"Exactly."
The door to his office stayed open. Through the glass walls,
I watched him drape his jacket over the chair, roll his shoulders once, twice. He settled behind his desk and pulled his laptop toward him.
Light from the screen cast shadows across his face, sharpening the angles.
He wasn't staying for me. Couldn't be.
Augustus Evans worked until ten because that's what Augustus Evans did. Perfection required discipline. Success demanded sacrifice.
That I happened to be here, drowning in reports and stale coffee, was purely coincidental.
I turned back to my screen.
The cursor blinked at me, impatient.
The only sounds were keyboard clicks and the soft rustle of turning pages.
I typed, deleted, retyped. Polished phrasing until it gleamed.
Through the glass walls, Augustus worked mechanically. Fingers flying across keys, pausing only to reference documents spread across his desk. His expression never changed—focused, remote, untouchable.
Lightning flickered.
I glanced toward the windows. Storm clouds rolled across the skyline, swallowing the city lights one block at a time. Thunder rumbled, distant but growing closer.
Rain began to patter against the glass.
My fingers hesitated on the keyboard.
This felt familiar. Disturbingly so.
Augustus and me, working in parallel silence. Storm outside, papers everywhere, deadline looming.
Except back then, we'd been crammed into the Harper estate library.
Seventeen years old, AP Calculus textbooks scattered between us, my father's disappointed voice echoing in my skull.
Augustus had shown up because our parents arranged it. He explained derivatives with infuriating patience while I pretended that I did not need his help.
Lightning flashed again, closer now. The office lights flickered.
Augustus didn't even look up.
I stole another glance.
He'd shifted forward, one hand propping his temple while he read. Completely absorbed.
The rolled sleeves exposed forearms I definitely shouldn't be noticing—corded muscle, elegant hands, and that antique Patek catching the monitor's glow.
Thunder cracked overhead.
My heart jumped.
Augustus's gaze lifted and found me staring.
I snapped my attention back to my screen, cheeks burning.
The cursor blinked accusingly.
I powered through the final sections, refining recommendations until they gleamed with precision. Almost there.
Except the numbers didn't quite align.
I cross-referenced the shipping manifests one more time, squinting at the discrepancy in the cost analysis. The figures blurred together.
"Augustus?"
His head lifted.
"Need you to check something."
He rose without hesitation and crossed to my desk. He leaned over my shoulder.
His cologne lingered — cedar and restraint. I told myself to focus on the numbers, not the man checking them.
I pulled up the spreadsheet.
"This formula. Am I missing a variable?"
His finger traced the screen, eyes scanning the cells.
"Here." He reached past me and adjusted the reference range. "You were counting the same shipment twice."
The numbers recalculated. Perfect alignment.
"Right. Obvious."
He didn't move away. Instead, pulled my chair slightly aside and perched on the edge of my desk, scrolling through the document. Red lines appeared—corrections, refinements.
I rewrote the flagged sections, translating his technical precision into language human beings could actually comprehend.
Back and forth. Augustus fixing calculations, me smoothing the prose.
The rhythm felt strangely natural. Disturbingly efficient.
I reached the supplier breakdown, scanning the timeline of delays. Something nagged at me.
"Wait."
I isolated the affected shipments and cross-referenced them against the vendor database.
There. A pattern emerging from the chaos.
Every delayed container traced back to the same logistics partner—Hendrick Maritime. The same company flagged in last quarter's audit for suspicious billing practices.
I tapped the screen.
"Look at this. All the delays correlate with Hendrick Maritime. They were flagged for corruption investigation three months ago."
Augustus froze.
His eyes narrowed, jaw tightening as he leaned closer to verify.
"That shouldn't be there."