The elevator doors slid shut with a soft, clean click, cutting off the floor and leaving the restaurant penthouse completely quiet.
Monique stood right by the edge of the table. Her body was visibly shaking. Her expensive golden dress was rumpled at the hips, and the heavy bracelets on her wrists jangled together as she buried her fingers into her leather bag, her knuckles trembling. The proud director mask was gone; she just looked like a woman who had been completely stripped of her power in front of her own boss.
She forced herself to swallow, taking a deep, shaky breath before turning around to face the man who was still leaning back in his chair.
"Sir," she said. Her voice was incredibly tight, struggling to stay formal and polite even though her throat was burning with pure humiliation. "Why? Why did you do that? You completely withdrew the contract. You walked right into his trap and let a slum rat dictate everything about this meeting."
