CHAPTER 15

Carter found Elena in the middle of restacking a pile of vendor contracts that had somehow multiplied overnight, the particular chaos of a desk belonging to someone who had too many active problems and not enough hours to solve any of them properly.

"You have a minute?" he asked, already closing the door behind him without waiting for permission — a habit Elena had learned meant whatever he wanted to say wasn't for the open floor.

"Depends what kind of minute."

"The kind where I tell you something that's going to make you angry at Mark, which I realize is not exactly breaking news at this point."

Elena set down the contract she was holding. "Go on."

Carter told her about Barnaby — the missed feedings, the two days alone in the penthouse, the housekeeper quietly absorbing a responsibility that wasn't hers because nobody else would. He watched Elena's expression shift as he spoke, the careful professional mask cracking just slightly at the edges.

"That's not neglect," Elena said finally, quiet and precise in a way that was somehow worse than shouting. "That's cruelty with better PR."

"That was roughly Chloe's read on it too."

"Chloe." Elena's eyebrows lifted, a flicker of interest crossing her face despite everything. "The creative director who fought you to a standstill over the Solaris budget?"

"We reached an accord," Carter said, with the studied neutrality of a man who did not want to examine that particular accord too closely in front of Elena, of all people. "She's the one who told me about the dog. Off the record — she doesn't want this turning into some public spectacle. She just can't stop thinking about him."

"Neither can I, now." Elena leaned back in her chair, already turning the problem over the way she turned over every problem — looking for the angle, the lever, the version of this that didn't blow up in everyone's face. "If Alexander goes after Mark directly for this, it becomes a family fight, and Harrison gets involved before we're ready for that. If we do nothing, Barnaby keeps suffering because nobody wants to make the first move."

"So what's the third option?"

"We don't ask permission." Elena's mouth curved, the first real smile Carter had seen from her all week. "We get him out. Quietly. Before anyone has to have a conversation about it at all."

Carter blinked. "You're talking about stealing Mark's dog."

"I'm talking about rescuing an animal from a negligent owner who currently has no legal standing to complain about it, given that half his financial records are already under quiet review." Elena's tone was perfectly reasonable, which somehow made the plan sound more unhinged rather than less. "Gavin could get us into the building schedule. Viktor could handle the actual logistics without it tracing back to any of us directly."

"You've clearly thought about this."

"I've been thinking about very little else since you walked in," Elena admitted. "It's nice to have a problem I can actually solve today, instead of one I have to circle for weeks before I even know what I'm looking at."

Carter caught something in that last part — a weariness under the humor that hadn't been there a few weeks ago. "Everything alright? Beyond the obvious Mark-shaped chaos."

"Define alright." Elena rubbed at her temple, some of the earlier lightness fading. "There's a lot moving right now. Most of it I can't talk about yet, not because I don't trust you, but because half of it isn't finished enough to have a shape."

"Fair enough." Carter didn't push, which was one of the things Elena had come to appreciate about him — he asked once, and if the door didn't open, he let it stay closed. "Well. For what it's worth, a covert dog rescue is a nice change of pace from whatever's actually keeping you up at night."

"It genuinely is," Elena said, and meant it more than she expected to. "Talk to Gavin. See what he can find out about building access schedules for the penthouse floor. I'll handle Viktor."

"On it." Carter paused at the door. "For the record — I think this is either going to be the funniest thing that's happened at this company in years, or an unmitigated disaster."

"With this cast of characters," Elena said, "I'd put money on both."

---

That evening, Carter caught up with Chloe in the break room, mostly by accident, though he'd told himself several times on the walk over that it was entirely accidental.

"I talked to Elena," he said, without preamble.

Chloe looked up from the coffee she was doctoring into something barely recognizable as coffee anymore. "And?"

"And apparently the solution to Mark neglecting his dog is a covert extraction operation, planned by a Director of Marketing and, presumably, whoever Gavin can rope into it."

Chloe's eyes went wide, delighted. "I'm sorry — you're telling me Elena Hayes wants to steal the dog."

"Rescue," Carter corrected. "She was very specific about the word."

"Rescue," Chloe repeated, grinning now. "I need to be involved in this. I have opinions about the operational timeline."

"Of course you do."

"I also have a very good relationship with the building's night security guard, if that's useful information," Chloe said, already pulling out her phone. "Marco. He owes me a favor from the holiday party."

Carter looked at her for a long moment — this woman who'd walked into his conference room ready to fight over eleven thousand dollars and was now cheerfully volunteering herself for what was, by any reasonable definition, a small-scale corporate heist.

"You're enjoying this," he said.

"Immensely," Chloe confirmed. "Aren't you?"

He thought about it — actually thought about it, instead of reaching automatically for the reasonable, risk-averse answer that had defined most of his professional decisions for the past six years.

"Yeah," he admitted, surprising himself. "I really am."

Chloe leaned against the counter, studying him with the same appraising look she'd given the budget board. "You know, for a guy whose entire reputation is built on saying no to things, you say yes a lot faster than people give you credit for."

"Only to the right things."

"Is this a right thing?"

Carter considered it — the ethics of it, technically questionable; the risk of it, genuinely significant if it traced back to any of them; the fact that none of that mattered nearly as much as the image of a dog alone in an empty penthouse for two straight days. "It's the right thing wrapped in a fairly reckless plan," he said. "But yes. It's a right thing."

"Good." Chloe set her coffee down and held out a hand, mock-formal. "Partners in crime, then, Cross."

He shook it, and told himself the warmth that spread through his chest was just satisfaction at finally having a problem worth solving. He was not, he informed himself firmly, going to think too hard about the alternative explanation.

He thought about it anyway, the whole walk back to his desk.