The executive elevator glided to a silent halt on the top floor of Sinclair Headquarters.
Aria stepped out, the sharp click-clack of her pointed-toe Louboutins echoing in the cavernous, immaculate reception area. She was braced for an army of uppity gatekeepers, or perhaps the lingering scent of cheap vanilla body spray that had trailed the women she saw leaving earlier.
Instead, she found only Ken.
The usually unflappable, perfectly groomed executive assistant was sitting behind the main reception desk, staring blankly at the wall. His tie was loosened, his top button was undone, and he looked like a man who had just barely survived a tour of duty in a psychological warfare trench.
"Ken?" Aria asked, stepping closer.
Ken jumped, his eyes snapping to her. For a split second, sheer terror flashed across his face, before profound relief washed over his features.
"Mrs. Sinclair," Ken exhaled, practically collapsing onto his desk.
