The text came in at half past ten.
Liam was mid-document—a board memo he'd been redrafting for the better part of twenty minutes, the language not landing the way he needed it to. He picked up his phone with the distracted attention of someone expecting his assistant and read the message once.
Then again.
Don't want to be seen coming to your office. I'm already at your quiet spot. Can you come?
He sat very still, the words anchoring him to the chair like an unexpected weight. Aurora Castillo had texted him. Not a formal message routed through assistants, not a joint session request filed through the usual calendar. A direct text—casual in its phrasing, assuming a shorthand, assuming he would know immediately what your quiet spot meant and would simply come.
