The quiet of the executive floor wasn't ordinary quiet—it was the kind of hush that wrapped itself around steel and glass. It belonged to power. Chloe's heels tapped through it like clockwork, her silhouette sharp against the endless stretch of windows.
When she reached Nick Carter's office, she didn't hesitate. Her manicured fingers brushed the brass handle. She pushed the door open.
Nick was behind his desk, sleeves rolled to the elbows, shirt pristine white, silver watch gleaming at his wrist. He wasn't looking at papers. His eyes were locked on his phone.
Chloe stepped inside, her silk skirt brushing her knees, emerald green catching light from the floor-to-ceiling windows. Her blouse—ivory, sleeveless—moved like liquid against her skin.
The room smelled faintly of cedarwood and dark leather. Nick's style: classic, controlled.
His voice broke the silence before she could speak.
"Figured it'd take you about five minutes."
