THE PROXY BRIDE: His bride. Her Secret.
Just pure, chaotic office humor—the kind born from too much caffeine and not enough HR supervision.
“Silmon once emailed himself a compliment,” Léa gasped between laughs. “Subject line: ‘Excellent leadership, keep it up.’ ”
“And replied ‘Thanks, champ,’” Manon added, wiping a tear.
Amara grinned so hard her cheeks hurt. This wasn’t about grand emotions or hidden pasts. It was just people being people—roasting each other like bad office coffee, laughing over deadlines, caffeine, and Cassian’s ongoing feud with his calendar reminders.
“To the coffee that keeps us employed,” Rafael declared, raising his glass.