The glass doors whispered shut behind her, sealing the hum of rain outside.
For a heartbeat, Willow forgot how to breathe.
Victor straightened from the reception desk with a slow, knowing smile, slipping his phone into his pocket.
He looked like a man who'd already left — coat still damp from the rain, hair tousled just enough to betray motion — yet something in his stance said he'd turned back at the last second.
Like he'd reached the curb, changed his mind, and decided she was worth waiting for.
The storm had given him texture — his suit no longer boardroom crisp but deliciously disheveled; his tie gone, his collar open, and a faint rain-dark line along the shoulder that made him look human.
The kind of man who belonged in both headlines and bad decisions.
She raised a brow. "You don't strike me as someone easily troubled by manners."
"I'm not," he admitted, grin sharpening. "But you looked too interesting to leave to the rain."
"Meaning you waited."
