Allan was pacing the room when Dylan entered, his face shadowed with a devastating scowl that spoke louder before he even said a word.
"Doesn't look good," Allan muttered, halting mid-step. "Didn't go well, did it?"
Dylan didn't respond immediately. He unbuttoned his shirt with sharp, jerky movements, flung his suit jacket onto the bed, and sank onto the edge of the mattress. He sat forward, elbows on his knees, pressing a hand to his face as if trying to keep his thoughts from spilling out.
"She wants to work in my company," he said finally, voice low with frustration. "How the fuck is that going to work, Allan? What the hell will I do with Olivia?"
Allan glanced around, then slowly lowered himself into the seat beside his boss. "This is you, Dylan. You don't answer to anyone. Not Olivia, not her family. She's no different."
