ログイン"If you're here to laugh at me, then you should probably go."Nate was trying to contain his laughter."Then why are you here, shouldn't you be enjoying the comfort of your bed?""I will soon but I brought you something." He held up a paper bag. Something from the deli two blocks down by the smell of it.Isla looked at the bag and then at him. "He'll see.""He's in a call until two.""Nate...""It's a sandwich, Isla. Not a crime."She hesitated for exactly three seconds. Her stomach, a traitor, made its position known again.She reached for the bag.Nate smiled, relieved, warm, pleased with himself."Don't tell him," she said."Obviously."He turned to leave.And walked directly into Darian standing in the corridor.The two men looked at each other.Nate held up both hands slowly. "I was just...""Do you want to work overtime with her, Nate" He asked emphasizing on his name."She hasn't eaten since..""Nate."The way he said it, quiet, final, the kind of tone that didn't repeat itself
"Mr. Blackwell... That's.." She stretched her hands to get the paper but he leaned back holding it slightly away from him, the way someone holds a thing they want to examine properly. Still on the call. Still listening. He nodded once at something the other person said.And he started reading.Isla stopped breathing.She had nowhere to look. Looking at him felt like watching something terrible happen in slow motion. Looking away felt like guilt. She ended up staring at the wall just past his shoulder and thinking, with sudden and devastating clarity, that she should have chosen a completely different career. Floristry, maybe. Something quiet. Something that did not involve standing in a glass-walled office while her employer read the words Ice King in her own handwriting.She could see his eyes moving.She knew exactly where he was by the quality of the silence.Control Freak, nothing. Not even a flicker.Ice King, his jaw shifted, barely. Or she imagined it. She couldn't tell anymor
"Ms. Mercer."The doorway was very quiet.Nate had stopped laughing entirely. He was now standing slightly to the side with the energy of a man who had decided he was not involved in whatever was about to happen.Smart man.Darian stepped into her office. Unhurried. Like he had all the time in the world and fully intended to use it. He stopped at the edge of her desk and looked down at her with an expression she couldn't read, which was, she was learning, his most dangerous setting."Finish what you were saying," he said.Isla held his gaze. "I was just...""The chipmunk analogy." His voice was completely even. "Finish it."The silence stretched.Nate made a sound that was almost a cough."I don't think that's necessary," Isla said carefully."No." Darian tilted his head slightly. "I don't think it is either." He pulled out the chair across from her desk, her guest chair, in her office and sat down like he owned it. Which, technically, he did. "I think what's necessary is a written ap
Her desk phone rang at half past ten.Isla picked it up without looking away from her screen. "Isla Mercer.""Ms. Mercer." Darian's voice deep and flat. Flat. "My office. Now."The line went dead.She set the receiver down slowly.Did he find out. She thought.She ran through it quickly, the domain error, the resend, the way she'd handled the thread. She had been careful. She was always careful. There was nothing to find because she hadn't left anything to find.He doesn't know, she told herself. He can't know.She stood up, smoothed her dress, and walked to his office. On reaching there, she pushed the door open and stopped.Two pairs of eyes met her.Darian behind his desk, his white with two unbuttoned, his tie hanging loosely below, expression unreadable, the pen already moving between his fingers in that slow, rhythmic tap she had learned to clock. Tap. Tap. Tap. The thing he did when he was thinking hard about something and didn't want anyone to know it.And Nate.Leaning agains
"Why was this not sent" A voice cut through the glass wall of Isla's office. Her ears perked up to hear what was being said."I... Forwarded it." Another voice, no doubt a junior staff shakily said. "I'm sure I did..." She said frantically tapping on the laptop as if it would magically show that she indeed sent the message."Yet, you didn't..." The senior staff gritted her teeth.Isla stood up from her seat arranging her dress as she went over to the other side of the floor to make some coffee."I did it. I sent it..." She said wishing desperately for the senior staff to believe her."Somehow, the mail you said you sent didn't actually send or someone manipulated. How do you explain that a very important mail that was supposed to be sent wasn't" She said anger mixed with disdain filling her voice."I... I...." She stammered when she was interrupted again."Do you know the gravity of what you just did. We could miss a major business deal just because you're sure of sending a mail, whic
"You’re early."The voice came from behind the security desk, casual but observant.Isla glanced over as she signed in, her pen moving smoothly across the page."I like quiet floors," she said.The guard gave a small nod, like that explained more than it should."Most people don’t.""Most people don’t need to see everything," Isla replied lightly.He looked at her for a second, like he might ask what that meant.He didn’t."Have a good day, Ms. Mercer.""I will."She handed the pen back and walked toward the elevators, the lobby still half-asleep around her.Isla arrived at six forty-five. Not because she had to buy because she wanted the floor to herself first.She made coffee, settled at her desk, and opened everything, his calendar, his correspondence folder, his meeting logs going back sixty days. Not frantically. Methodically. The way you learned a building before you decided which walls to touch.She was good at this job. That had never been the performance.It was also, as it t







