Morning light filters through heavy silk drapes, casting a muted gold over the rumpled sheets of Suite 412. Julian Cray wakes to the scent of expensive linen and a perfume he didn’t recognize twelve hours ago. Beside him, Saoirse Halloran remains asleep, a spill of dark hair across the pale pillow. He moves with surgical precision, sliding from the bed to avoid a shift in the mattress that might wake her. On the floor, his silver cufflink glints from beneath the shadow of a velvet sofa, a small, forgotten casualty of the night’s uncharacteristic haste.
He retrieves his phone from the mahogany nightstand, the screen’s glare biting into his vision. The HR briefing header text at the top of his notifications freezes his breath: New Analyst Profile: Halloran, Saoirse. The name stares back at him, stripped of last night’s candlelight and reduced to a corporate font. She is his newest subordinate, due in the office in less than two hours.
This is a disaster of my own making. Julian reaches for his shirt, his movements Tightening. He needs to leave before she opens her eyes. Julian's phone screen lights up again, the caller ID vibrating toward the edge of the nightstand.
