Calhoun’s POV,
The office smelled like every other office I had been in.
Polished wood. Cold glass. Leather that had never known sweat. Paris spread itself beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, indifferent and beautiful. Cars slid through the streets below, tiny and obedient, and for a moment I wondered what it would feel like to be that small. That anonymous.
The manager was still talking.
“…and of course, Monsieur Calhoun, the acquisition process went smoother than expected. Your name opened doors. There were no objections.”
I didn’t look at him.
I only nodded.
“Good,” I said absently, my eyes fixed on the reflection in the glass. Not the city—my own face staring back at me.
He hesitated. “Is there anything else you require today?”
“No.” My voice was flat. Final.
He gathered h
