Elena spent most of the morning trying to keep her attention on the work in front of her. The Berlin notes were finished. The planning summary had been sent. On the surface the executive office looked the same as any other day: quiet, ordered, controlled. Underneath, the atmosphere had changed.
Richard Crowe’s interest was no longer theoretical. He had looked at her in the corridor as if she were a detail worth filing away. Adrian’s reaction had confirmed it. The private agreement still existed — the lace, the blindfold in the drawer, the established pause command — but for the first time those rules felt secondary to something sharper moving outside the room.
At 11:20 the internal line on her desk rang. Elena answered.
“Miss Brooks? Richard Crowe. I wonder if you have a moment.”
She k
