-POV Derby
The glass door of the fourteenth-floor conference room remained closed, but the heavy silence between us felt far more restrictive than the walls. Jordan’s hand stayed frozen at his side, his fingers still hooked slightly from the shape of my chin, his breath coming out in that slow, heavy rhythm that usually meant he was trying to calculate his next three moves during a board meeting.
I reached up, my fingers calmly adjusting the collar of my button-down shirt where his palm had left a faint, temporary warmth against my skin.
"I am fine, Jordan," I said, my voice carrying that smooth, flat cadence I usually reserved for answering customer inquiries on the lower floors. I didn't back my chair away from his solid frame, nor did I look down at the glowing spreadsheet. I just ke
