SHE AUDITED THEIR HEARTS

Chapter 2 Sienna's POV

The elevator doors opened on the thirty-eighth floor, and I stepped out into my new life.

It looked like every other corporate floor I had ever worked on. Open desks, frosted glass partitions, people glancing up when I walked past, and looking away just as fast. New boss energy. I recognized it. I had been on both sides of it enough times to know what it meant.

People who glanced up when I walked past, then looked away fast. New boss energy. I recognized it. I had been on both sides of it enough times to know what it meant.

A woman near the end of the row stood up before I reached her desk. Late twenties, natural hair pinned back, a blazer that meant business. She extended her hand.

"Sienna Vale? I'm Dara. I'll be your direct report." Her grip was firm. Her smile was the cautious kind—not unfriendly, just waiting to see what I was before she committed to anything warmer. I respected that.

"Good to meet you, Dara."

She walked me through the floor. Seven people on my team. A mix of analysts and a senior auditor named Patrick, who had been there for four years.

He shook my hand and said "welcome" in the tone people use when they mean let's see how long you last.

Fine. I had heard that tone before, too.

Dara set me up in the corner office—glass walls, a desk that hadn't been touched in weeks, and months of someone else's half-finished work stacked in three neat piles on the credenza.

I sat down, pulled the first file open, and started reading.

The previous lead had been neat. Color-coded tabs, numbered pages, and a contents sheet at the front. The kind of organization that looks impressive until you realize the person behind it was more interested in looking thorough than being thorough.

I found the first problem inside twenty minutes. Wrote it down, and kept going.

Dara appeared at the door with coffee at some point. I thanked her without looking up. She left without asking questions, which told me she was either perceptive or well-trained. Possibly both.

I turned to the next file and kept pulling the thread.

I stood to stretch and shrugged off my jacket. The office ran warm, and I had been sitting still too long. I hung it on the back of my chair and turned back to my desk, undoing the top two buttons of my shirt while I reached for my pen.

The door opened.

I didn't hear a knock. There wasn't one.

Ziven Moretti walked in like the room already belonged to him, which, technically, it did.

He carried a single folder, and his eyes swept the office.

It landed heavily on my chest, slow and unhurried, tracing the open V of my shirt where the top two buttons were undone. The heat of his stare dragged across my skin like a physical touch—lingering on the soft swell of my breasts, the delicate lace edge now visible, the way my n*****s pebbled instantly under the intensity of it. A low pulse of unwanted heat flared between my thighs.

One second. Maybe less. But it felt like he’d stripped the air from the room.

I set my pen down slowly.

"Mr. Moretti," I said. "My eyes are about eight inches higher."

He looked up. His expression didn't crack. Not even slightly. But something behind his eyes shifted in a way that told me the comment had landed exactly where I threw it.

"I was looking at your notes," he said.

I glanced at the legal pad on my desk, then back at him. "Sure you were."

A beat of silence.

"Sure you were."

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he moved. Slow, unhurried, crossing the office like he owned every inch of it. He stopped at the edge of my desk and placed both hands on the surface, leaning forward slightly.

The move brought him close enough that I could smell him—dark spice, warm skin, and something dangerously masculine that made my stomach tighten. His broad shoulders filled my vision.

The tattoos peeking from his collar and cuffs looked even more sinful up close, ink disappearing beneath crisp fabric like secrets I suddenly wanted to uncover. His dark eyes locked onto mine, but the tension between us crackled with everything unsaid.

That close, the heat rolling off him wrapped around me. My pulse hammered in my throat, and I hated how aware I was of the way my breasts rose and fell with each shallow breath, still slightly exposed from the open buttons.

"You have something to say to me, Ms. Vale?"

"I'd appreciate it if you looked at my face when you spoke to me," I said.

He tilted his head slightly, that dark gaze sharpening.

"Most women in this building would kill for my attention," he said quietly, voice low and edged with arrogance. "Yet here you are… correcting me."

He held my gaze for a moment, then let his stare drop again: slower, bolder, completely unashamed. It slid down my throat and settled on my breasts, lingering on the soft curves exposed by the open buttons. My n*****s tightened painfully under the weight of his stare, heat blooming low in my belly.

When he finally dragged his eyes back up, they paused on my lips, devouring them with such raw hunger it felt like he was imagining every filthy thing he could do to my mouth. The eye-f**k was blatant and unhurried.

Only then did he meet my eyes again.

I let out a short, shaky breath. "You've got to be f*****g kidding me."

He didn't respond to that. He slid the folder across the desk toward me. "Q3 records. Strictly confidential. Couldn't send anyone else with them."

He straightened and walked to the door.

He stopped with his hand on the frame. Didn't turn around. "Button your shirt, Ms. Vale. This is a workplace."

He walked out before I could answer.

I stared at the door for a full three seconds. Then I looked down at my shirt, back at the door, and let out a slow breath through my nose.

I buttoned one button. Not both. Then I opened the folder.

***

The Q3 records were exactly what I needed. By four o'clock, I had a working theory. By five, I had the bones of a presentation that would make Patrick's polite skepticism very difficult to maintain.

Dara knocked at four on the dot. "There's an announcement. Team leads and above. Conference room B."

I followed her down the hall.

The woman at the front of the room had the polished, unruffled energy of someone whose entire job was managing other people's impressions. She waited for the room to settle, then smiled.

"Before we get into it, I want to take a moment to welcome our newest team lead. Sienna Vale joins us as Head of Financial Investigations, taking over the unit effective this week." She gestured toward me. Every head in the room turned. "We're glad to have you, Sienna."

I nodded once. "Thank you."

"Now." She clasped her hands together. "Short notice, I know. Mr. Moretti wanted this communicated directly rather than through the usual channels." She paused. "Aurelius Holdings will be hosting its annual team event this Saturday. It's a pool party, so dress accordingly. Attendance is mandatory. Full details will be delivered to your emails within the hour."

The room lost its mind. Actual applause. Someone near the back hollered. A woman three seats down said, "It's about time," loud enough for the whole room to hear.

The woman beside me leaned over. She had warm brown skin, box braids pulled to one side, and the easy smile of someone who had been here long enough to enjoy moments like this. "I'm Jade," she said quietly. "And trust me, you picked the right week to start."

I smiled. "Sienna."

"I know." She glanced toward the front of the room, then back at me. "This is exactly the kind of thing everyone here needed. You'll see Saturday."

Someone raised their hand near the front and asked about a dress code beyond swimwear.

"Smart casual for arrival," the PR woman said. "After that, the pool is yours."

The meeting broke up quickly after that. I walked back to my office, picked up my jacket, and thought about what "casual" meant in a building with no name in the lobby and a button in the elevator with no number.

My phone buzzed before I reached my desk.

A single message. The address. Saturday. Seven p.m.

I sat down and stared at it for a long moment.

Then I opened the Q3 folder and got back to work.