Courtney had barely stepped into the glass-walled lobby of Empire Brands when she felt it: the shift in the air, the invisible tension that prickled against her skin like static. She had braced herself for Dwayne's moods before, but today it was different. The stormy match from the weekend still clung to him like a shadow, and she knew without needing to see him that his simmering fury hadn't burned out overnight.
She smoothed her skirt, squared her shoulders, and walked toward her office space. People passed her with their usual greetings, but she barely registered them. What she registered instead was the hard, clipped sound of Dwayne's shoes striking the polished marble floor as he strode past her without so much as a glance. His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable.
"Courtney," he said, his tone low, sharp, and public enough that a few heads turned, "I want that entire client analysis report restructured by noon. The way it's written now doesn't meet our standards."
