The meeting ended the way most of them did, with polite nods, clipped words, and the scrape of chairs against the polished floor. Papers shuffled. Laptops snapped shut. Cory stretched his arms like he always did when he'd had enough numbers for the day, grinning faintly as if we'd all been sitting in a café instead of reviewing the company's weekly performance.
"Good work, Damian," one of the executives said, slipping his pen into the breast pocket of his jacket. "I'll have the finance team send an updated forecast this evening."
"Make sure they triple-check it," I replied. My voice stayed steady, though the back of my mind replayed the one chart Harrow had presented that showed a troubling dip in productivity. Small, but not insignificant.
Cory clapped my shoulder as he passed. "You'll wear yourself thin if you keep staring holes through every number." His grin widened. "Some of us like to sleep."
I gave him a thin smile. "Some of us like results."
He chuckled, shaking his head, and left the boardroom with the others. The doors whispered shut behind them, the sound soft but final.
Silence followed.
I leaned back in my chair for the first time that morning, letting the weight of the leather cradle me. My eyes drifted across the table, still scattered with papers, the faint ring of coffee cups marking where executives had sat. The faint ticking of the wall clock filled the space, steady, unhurried.
She hadn't moved.
Elena still stood at my right, hands lightly folded in front of her, posture composed. She wasn't staring at me, though. Her gaze had gone to the notes she had been organizing, lips pressed in a thoughtful line.
I studied her a moment longer than I should have.
Her hair caught the muted light from the boardroom's recessed lamps, the strands neatly tucked but not rigid. She had stood for the entire meeting without faltering, taking notes whenever I spoke, occasionally glancing at the graphs on the screen. She hadn't needed to be told twice what to pay attention to.
"Sit," I said finally, my voice cutting into the quiet.
Her eyes flicked toward me. A pause. Then she pulled the nearest chair slightly and lowered herself into it, back straight, pen still in hand as if the meeting had not ended.
I turned one of the files toward me, opened it, and let my pen tap once against the page.
"What did you think of that presentation?" I asked.
Her brow lifted slightly. "From Harrow?"
"Yes."
She glanced down at her notes. "The growth he highlighted is accurate, but… his explanation for the dip in productivity seemed incomplete."
The corners of my mouth tightened. "Go on."
She hesitated only a second before continuing. "He attributed it to staff adjustment after the new system was rolled out. That might account for some of it, but not the entire drop. From what I've observed, there's also a gap in communication between departments. It slows output."
I let her words settle in the quiet room. Precise. Measured. Observant.
My pen pressed against the paper, though I wasn't writing. "You've been here less than a week," I said. "And you already think you see the company's flaws."
Her shoulders straightened a little, but her voice didn't waver. "I think it's better to notice them early than ignore them."
I almost smiled. Almost. Instead, I shifted the file back into place and closed it.
"That's the kind of answer that earns enemies in rooms like this," I said.
Her lips pressed into the faintest line, but she didn't look away.
I leaned forward slightly, resting my arms on the table. "Still, you're not wrong. Harrow's explanation was thin. And if the others caught it, they were too polite to mention it."
She wrote something in her notebook, pen moving quickly, the soft scratch against paper filling the room.
My eyes lingered again, tracing the neatness of her handwriting, the way her fingers gripped the pen firmly but not too tight. It told me something about her—control without rigidity. I looked away before the thought grew too pointed.
"Tell me," I said after a moment, "do you think Cory noticed?"
Her gaze flicked up, cautious. "He noticed. But he let it go."
The directness of her reply caught me off guard, though I didn't show it. She had already picked up on my brother's habit of smiling through discomfort, leaving conflict to others.
I tapped the table lightly with my pen. "You've been paying attention."
"That's my job," she answered simply.
I let out a low breath, leaning back in my chair again. The ceiling lights hummed faintly overhead. Beyond the boardroom doors, I could hear the muffled sound of footsteps in the hall, voices rising and falling in conversation, phones ringing somewhere distant.
Inside, though, the quiet between us stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable.
Finally, I asked, "What do you think of working here so far?"
Her pen stilled. She looked up, blinking once, as though the question had surprised her. "It's demanding," she said after a beat. "But I expected that. The pace is… faster than anywhere I've worked before."
"And?"
Her lips parted slightly, then curved, not into a smile exactly but something close. "And it's sharper. Everyone moves like time is always running out."
I tilted my head slightly. "That's not far from the truth."
She looked down again, pen moving across the page. For a moment I only watched her hand, the small rise of her shoulders as she breathed, the steady way she set her notes in order without fuss.
There was nothing remarkable about the moment. And yet, I caught myself holding it longer than necessary.
"I'll need a copy of your notes by the end of the day," I said, clearing the thought.
"You'll have them."
"And make sure the updated report reaches me before the next board session."
"Yes, sir."
Her tone was respectful, but not meek. A balance most failed to find in this office.
I stood, pushing my chair back slightly, the sound low against the floor. She rose immediately after, straightening her skirt, gathering her notes.
For a second, I almost said something else. Something that had nothing to do with reports or forecasts. But the words stayed where they belonged—behind my teeth.
Instead, I gave a curt nod. "That'll be all for now."
She inclined her head, her expression unreadable, and moved toward the door. The faint sound of her heels echoed softly in the boardroom.
When the door closed behind her, the silence that returned was heavier than before.
I exhaled slowly, lowering myself back into the chair. The papers in front of me blurred for a moment as my thoughts wandered where they shouldn't.
Then I straightened them, set my pen against the first page, and forced myself back to the numbers.