Gunnar POV
The office felt right. It always had. The mahogany desk. The wall of windows overlooking the lake. The floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with decades of business history. The scent of leather, old paper, and expensive bourbon that lingered no matter how often the room was cleaned.
Keenan Ashwood belonged here. And somehow, at some point... I'd quietly begun believing I might too.
Not because he'd ever promised me anything. He hadn't, but because he'd trusted me. When he traveled, he'd left me in charge of meetings. When acquisitions stalled, he'd asked for my opinion before the board's. Some assistants managed calendars. I'd managed billion-dollar negotiations. I'd earned this room.
At least... I'd thought I had.
I was halfway through reviewing one of Ashwood Industries' Euro
