The Morgan Beauty Brand building received her the way it always did — the specific, quiet efficiency of a staff that had learned the rhythm of her arrivals, the greetings timed and measured, the lobby holding the particular warmth of a space that had been built to reflect its owner's aesthetic. Rebecca moved through it with the unhurried ease of someone on familiar ground, her heels on the marble floor, her sunglasses still on until the elevator.
She had things to do today. A brand meeting at eleven. A call with her PR team in the afternoon. The specific, forward momentum of a woman who had decided that forward momentum was the only available option and was maintaining it with everything she had.
She stepped off the elevator. Walked the corridor. Reached her office door.
Opened it.
Liam was sitting behind her desk.
She stumbled.
"Gosh—"
