The humidity in the lobby of Sterling & Stone Financial was enough to wilt a designer silk blouse, but inside the executive suite on the 42nd floor, the temperature was a consistent, bone-chilling 64 degrees. This was the natural habitat of Elena Vance, a woman whose glare could allegedly freeze a cup of hot espresso mid-pour.
Elena sat behind her mahogany desk, her spine a perfect vertical line that defied the laws of human fatigue. Her hair was pulled back into a bun so tight it looked structurally load-bearing. Before her lay the quarterly projections a sea of red that made her temples throb.
Then came the sound.
It started as a faint rhythmic tapping against the plush carpet, accompanied by a low, melodic whistling that definitely didn't belong in a firm that managed three billion dollars in assets.
Clip-clop. Whistle. Clip-clop.
Elena didn't look up. She didn't need to. There was only one person in the building brave or stupid enough to whistle "Walking on Sunshine" while approaching the Lion's Den.
The door didn't just open; it swung wide with an enthusiastic creak. In walked Leo Miller. He wasn't wearing a tie. He never wore a tie. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms that looked like they spent more time at a climbing gym than a desk, and his top button was undone, exposing a glimpse of a tan that suggested he'd spent his weekend outdoors rather than reviewing the Dodd-Frank Act.
"Morning, Boss-Lady! Or is it 'Your
Excellency' today? You've got that 'I'm about to fire a small country' look in your eyes."
Elena finally looked up. Her eyes were chips of gray ice. "It is 9:04 AM, Mr. Miller. You are four minutes late. And I have told you repeatedly not to call me 'Boss-Lady.' It's unprofessional, undignified, and frankly, irritating."
Leo didn't flinch. In fact, he leaned against the doorframe, flashing a grin that featured two very prominent, very annoying dimples. "Four minutes? That's not late, Elena. That's a 'dramatic entrance.' Plus, I stopped by the lobby cafe. They were having a crisis with the foam-to-milk ratio, and I had to intervene. For the good of the office."
He strolled forward and placed a tall paper cup on her desk, right on top of a sensitive tax audit.
"Get that off my paperwork," she hissed, though her nose betrayed her by twitching at the scent of high-quality Arabica and hints of salted caramel.
"It's a sea-salt caramel latte with an extra shot. No foam, just like your heart," Leo joked, pulling a chair out without being invited and spinning it around to sit backward, resting his chin on his arms. "Tough morning?"
Elena pushed the coffee exactly two inches to the left, away from her files, but she didn't push it back to him. "The Henderson account is hemorrhaging. The market is volatile. And I am currently being harassed by an employee who thinks the employee handbook is a suggestion for a fictional universe."
"The market's just moody," Leo said, waving a hand dismissively. "It needs a hug. Just like you."
Elena's pen snapped. It was a clean break. The blue ink leaked onto her thumb, a stark contrast to her pale skin.
"I do not need a hug, Mr. Miller. I need the performance metrics for the Southeast region. Which you were supposed to email me last night."
Leo's expression softened, but the mischief didn't leave his eyes. "I did email them. But then I realized they were boring. So, I decided to bring them in person so I could explain the 'why' behind the numbers.
Also, I brought donuts. There's a bear claw in the breakroom with your name on it. Metaphorically. I didn't actually write 'Elena' in icing, though now I realize that was a missed opportunity."
"I don't eat donuts," she lied. She loved bear claws. The almond paste was her secret undoing.
"Right, right. Only the souls of underperformers for breakfast. I forgot." Leo stood up, pacing her office with a restless, kinetic energy that made the room feel smaller. He stopped at her window, looking out over the city. "You know, the sun is actually out today. You should try opening the blinds. It's a scientific fact that Vitamin D prevents you from becoming a Bond villain."
"I like the shade," she snapped, though her heart gave a traitorous little thump against her ribs.
She hated how he did that. How he moved through the world as if friction didn't exist. To Elena, life was a series of walls to be climbed or demolished. To Leo, it seemed to be a giant slip-and-slide. He was loud, he was messy, and he treated the corporate hierarchy like a game of hopscotch.
He was everything she detested. So why, she wondered angrily, did the office feel so incredibly gray the moment he left it?
"Anyway," Leo said, turning back to her, his smile turning a fraction more genuine, "I actually came in to tell you that the Southeast numbers are up 12%. I spent the weekend talking to the distributors. Turns out, they didn't want a better rate; they just wanted someone to listen to them complain about their kids for twenty minutes. Empathy, Elena. It's a hell of a drug."
Elena paused. 12%? That was impossible. She'd been trying to move those numbers for six months with logic, data, and sternly worded memos.
"You... you went to Georgia over the weekend?"
"Fought some mosquitoes, ate some peach cobbler, saved the firm a few million. All in a Saturday's work." He walked back to the desk and leaned over, his face suddenly very close to hers. She could smell his cologne something that smelled like sandalwood and rain. "You're allowed to say 'thank you,' you know. It won't break your jaw."
Elena felt the heat rising in her neck. She channeled every ounce of her 'Ice Queen' persona, hardening her gaze. "I will thank you when I see the signed contracts and the verified data. Until then, you have wasted company time on an unauthorized trip. I should write you up."
Leo laughed a deep, rich sound that echoed off the cold glass walls. "You're so full of it, Elena. You're actually impressed. You're just annoyed that you didn't think of it first."
"Leave. Now," she commanded, pointing a stained finger toward the door.
"Going! Going! But drink the coffee before it gets cold. Cold coffee is for people who have given up on joy." He headed for the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "And hey, the blue ink on your hand? It matches your eyes. It's a good look."
With a wink that felt like a physical poke to her chest, he was gone. The door clicked shut, and the silence rushed back in, heavy and oppressive.
Elena stared at the door for a full minute. Her heart was racing from anger, she told herself. Pure, unadulterated professional fury.
She looked down at the coffee cup. The steam was still rising. Slowly, cautiously, as if checking for explosives, she reached out and took a sip.
It was perfect. The salt cut through the sweetness, and the caffeine hit her system like a bolt of lightning.
"Idiot," she whispered to the empty room.
She reached for a wet wipe to clean the ink off her hand, but stopped. She looked at her reflection in the darkened computer screen. The blue smudge was messy. It was "unprofessional." It was a mark of chaos in her perfectly ordered world.
She didn't wipe it off.
Instead, she opened her laptop and pulled up the Southeast region file. A 12% increase. She felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and immediately suppressed it, pulling her face back into a mask of grim determination.
She had a reputation to uphold, after all. She couldn't have people thinking she liked the man. Even if he was the only person in the city who knew exactly how she took her coffee.
Outside, in the hallway, she heard Leo burst into another chorus of whistling.
"God, I hate him," she murmured, taking another long, warm sip of the latte. "I absolutely, 100% hate him."
She said it once more, just to see if the lie would sound any truer the second time. It didn't.