Two weeks. Fourteen days of calculated, cold-blooded efficiency.
I had become a ghost in my own office. I had channeled every ounce of my hurt, my confusion, and my lingering, infuriating attraction to Julian Thorne into my work. I was sharper than a razor. I had streamlined the Henderson project, renegotiated the supply chain contracts, and secured a partnership that Julian had been chasing for six months. I did it all without asking him a single question, without seeking his approval, and without ever meeting his eyes.
The final deal was signed on a Tuesday evening. The office was buzzing with the kind of electric, caffeinated energy that only happens when a massive project finally crosses the finish line. Champagne corks were popping in the main lobby, and people were laughing, loo
