ISABELLA'S POV
By the time I made it back to the executive suite, my pulse had settled into something less than cardiac arrest, though the blush in my cheeks still hadn't fully faded. I took a deep breath before pushing the door open, willing my face into something neutral—something professional.
Clara was already at the desk, her posture perfect, fingers flying over her pristine laptop like she hadn't just walked in on me very much on Adrien Walton's lap.
As I slid into my chair, I expected silence. Maybe a cold shoulder. Maybe... judgment.
Instead, she smiled.
Not the tight, brittle smile from before. This one was soft. Warm, even.
"There you are," she said lightly. "Feeling better?"
I blinked. "Oh. Yeah. Thanks."
"No worries at all." She smiled, a touch of understanding in her eyes. "I hope I didn't startle you earlier."
I shook my head. "You didn't. Sorry you had to walk in on that. I just—uh, wasn't expecting company."
Oh God. Death, take me now.
