Monday morning usually felt like a well-oiled machine.
After the relative peace of the weekend, William and I were back in our rhythm—the silent communication, the exchanged glances over files, and the shared understanding of the week's goals.
We were Batman and Robin again, draped in the safety of our professional armor.
Then the elevator chimed at 10:00 AM.
Isabella didn't knock.
She never did.
She glided into the executive suite, the scent of her cloying, floral perfume arriving seconds before she did. She looked radiant in a powder-blue power suit that was clearly designed for looking at things, not doing them.
In her hands, she carried two designer coffee carriers.
"Morning, everyone!" She chirped, her voice bouncing off the glass walls.
She didn't even glance toward my desk as she made a beeline for William's open door.
"Isabella." William said, looking up from his monitor with a startled blink. "I wasn't expecting you today."
