“Name and appointment?" the receptionist asked without glancing up.
“Kaylee Hart. Clarence is expecting me."
The woman's eyes flicked to Kaylee's gloves. Then to the screen. Her brows lifted slightly.
“Fifty-third floor. Elevator will open for you. Don't bring out your phone."
“I don't have one," Kaylee muttered.
The receptionist smirked. “Then you're exactly where you belong."
---
The elevator walls were mirrored, catching every inch of her discomfort. Her reflection looked small, tired, but unbroken.
As the doors opened, a tall man in a navy suit stepped forward.
“Miss Hart," he said with a fake smile. “I'm Nolan. Legal counsel. Please follow me."
She followed him down a hallway lined with abstract art—soulless strokes in red and gray. They stopped at a glass-walled conference
