𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞

Sienna Moore hated mornings. But she hated Grayson Blake more.

She spotted him the second she stepped into the lobby-leaning casually against the reception desk, sleeves rolled up just enough to show toned forearms, that crooked, infuriating smile tugging at his lips as he murmured something to the receptionist.

"Moore," he called smoothly before she could make it to the elevator. Deep. Dangerous. That voice could talk someone into a deal-or make them lose their mind. "Running late? That's unusual for you."

"Unlike you to notice," she shot back, clutching her iced latte like a shield.

He fell into step beside her with irritating ease. "Please. I notice everything about you."

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't you have someone else to bother?"

"Why bother anyone else," he said, voice low, leaning closer so she could smell his clean cologne, "when you're so... entertaining?"

Her jaw tightened, and she jabbed the elevator button.

"You know," he added casually, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, "I actually understand why you're mad all the time."

"Oh, really?" she asked, flat, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Of course," he said smoothly. "It must be exhausting... fighting your feelings for me every single day."

Sienna groaned, hoping he'd wait for the next elevator. Of course, he didn't. He slid in behind her, brushing past just enough to make her notice.

She shifted, trying to put space between them, but the mirrored walls betrayed her. His grin widened. He was enjoying this far too much.

"And," he murmured, voice teasing, "we're going to be working together today."

She froze. Her stomach sank. The promotion. Of course. Of all the mornings...

He caught the hesitation in her eyes and smirked wider. "Lucky us."

Sienna wanted to scream.