Miguel was packing up his bag, ready to leave the office for the day, when his secretary buzzed in to inform him that someone wanted to see him.
He glanced at his watch, sighed, and reluctantly said, “Send them in,” assuming it must be someone important. He wasn’t in the mood, but curiosity outweighed irritation.
To his surprise, Benjamin Lawson strolled into the office like he owned the place.
Miguel didn’t even bother straightening up. He just leaned back in his chair, one brow lifted, watching the young man take slow, purposeful steps inside. There was arrogance in his walk, in the way his chin tilted just slightly upward—as if he belonged there. He was dressed for show: tailored navy blazer, silver cufflinks, and a smirk he wore like armor.
He didn’t say hello. Didn’t ask to sit.
