And I don’t know what I expected, maybe annoyance or maybe dismissal, but what I get is something else entirely.
Stillness.
Tension.
Like a wire stretched too tight.
“You readallof this on your own?“ he asks.
I nod slowly. “Yes.”
“You made the connection.Alone.”
My pulse flutters. “I—well, yes. I’ve been in my office all day. I checked it a few times to be sure.”
He closes the file. Smooth.
Careful.
Then he stands.
I brace, suddenly unsure. He paces behind the desk once, then stops at the window, looking out like the skyline holds answers.
A long moment passes.
Then, quietly, he says, “Do you know how many people I’ve had on that building?”
My throat goes dry. “No.”
“Fourattorneys. Two consultants. A city zoning liaison with thirty years’ experience.”
He turns back toward me.
“Noneof them found this.”
I sit frozen.
A chill going down my spine.
“I’ve spent months waiting for something to shift,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “A reason. An angle.”
His eyes drag across me.
And then, lower. A little colder.
“And you—youwalk in here in a thrift store skirt and shake the goddamn foundation.”
I flinch and his stare hardens.
“Don’t mistake me,” he says. “That wasn’t an insult. That was awarning.Because now that I know what youcando, Olivia… you don’t get to hide anymore.”
He places the file in front of me next to the tray of unfinished food, but I don’t reach for it.
His eyes stay locked on mine, something unreadable behind them, something I’m only beginning to understand.
“Take the afternoon to draft a summary memo,” he says. “Include the tax leverage, the variance opportunity, and the timeline.”
I reach for the file, but as I move, I knock my purse on the edge of my desk and it falls.