*ARIANA*
Durrell standing in my office doorway at nine thirty at night felt like a complication I did not need.
“I didn’t schedule you,” I said.
“I know.”
He walks in after firmly closing the door behind him without asking, not aggressively but with quiet, deliberate intention.
I leaned back in my chair. “This better not be about Maxwell.”
“It’s not.”
“Good, because I’m tired.”
“You look it.”
I didn’t answer. My desk was buried in Blackbridge reports. Frozen accounts. Contract reversals. Legal notices drafted and redrafted until every word could survive a courtroom.
Durrell’s eyes scanned the stacks. “You’re pushing yourself.”
“There’s nothing to ease into.”
Silence pressed between us.
“There’s something I’d like us to discuss,” he said.
“I don’t like that sentence.”
“The La
