|Casmira's POV|
The hum of voices and the soft clicking of keyboards fill the office as I sit in the glass-walled conference room, poring over the quarterly financial reports. The tension in my shoulders grows with each line I read. Everything about this document screams "damage control," and I have no idea where to begin.
"Ms. Young?"
I look up to see Draven standing at the door, a leather folder tucked under his arm. His expression is unreadable, but his dark eyes have that unnerving intensity I was beginning to associate with him.
"Yes?" I ask, pushing my irritation to the side.
"I thought you'd want to see this," he says, stepping inside and placing the folder in front of me. "It's a summary of the recent market trends affecting Young Luxury's growth. I highlighted key points for
