The door swung open.
Lina stepped inside—and instantly, her feet betrayed her.
She froze.
Like some cliché scene from a damn drama, her eyes locked onto the sight in front of her. Carter Hayes and Daniel fucking Viggo, both seated like gods on a sleek, black leather couch, mid-conversation. Their heads turned toward her the second she stepped in, two pairs of eyes pinning her to the spot like a spotlight had just snapped on in a pitch-black room.
Her heart didn't just drop—it nosedived, straight into her stomach.
Fuck.
She hadn't knocked.
Of course she hadn't. It had completely slipped her mind—no, that wasn't even true. She'd been so tangled up in her thoughts, chewing over every word she'd planned to say to Carter, that everything else had blurred. She didn't even remember walking down the hallway. Her mind had been spiraling, tripping over itself with panic, excitement, dread. And maybe—maybe—a stupid little voice inside her had hoped she'd find Carter alone, maybe just getting dressed, maybe shirtless.
Yeah. Pathetic.
But instead, she had walked in on a damn boardroom scene from hell.
And sitting there in all his cold, unholy glory was Daniel Viggo.
That was what made it so much worse.
If it had just been Carter, she could've recovered. He was her boss—stern when he had to be, yes, but kind. He carried a calmness that settled most people, and somehow, despite her nerves, he never made her feel small. Not intentionally. Not cruelly.
But Daniel?
He was something else entirely.
He didn't just intimidate—he fucking dominated. Every room, every conversation, every second he breathed. His presence was a goddamn thunderstorm waiting to strike. He looked like he was carved from stone and anger. Broad shoulders beneath a crisp charcoal suit, one leg lazily crossed over the other like he owned the place. Hell, he probably did.
Her pulse thudded like a war drum in her ears.
She remembered that night. The one she tried not to think about—the one that came crawling into her chest when she least expected it. Daniel's voice, like gravel soaked in gasoline. The way he had yelled at her, eyes flaring with fury as if she was nothing but a reckless, annoying child. The humiliation. The heat. The fear.
She hadn't forgotten a second of it.
Her fingers curled at her sides, digging into her palms to anchor herself. She shouldn't have walked in like that. Should've fucking knocked. Now here she was, standing like a deer caught in a goddamn spotlight, legs stiff, face burning, mouth dry.
The silence stretched. Awkward. Sharp.
Both men looked annoyingly good, too. Carter in his tailored navy suit, hair pushed back in soft waves, his tie slightly loosened like he'd been laughing just a moment ago. Daniel, by contrast, was still as stone. His expression unreadable, lips pressed into a firm line, dark eyes locked on her like she was a bug on the windshield of his day.
She took one hesitant step back. Then another. Maybe if she just quietly closed the door, acted like this never happened—
"Lina."
Carter's voice. Calm. Low. Curious.
She froze.
"What's going on?" he asked, eyebrows pulling together slightly. "Did you need something?"
Shit.
There was no escaping now.
Her breath caught, and she forced herself to speak. Her voice felt small, tight in her throat.
"I… I wanted to talk to you about something," she said, eyes flicking to him, careful to avoid Daniel's gaze entirely. "But it can wait. You're in a meeting. I didn't mean to interrupt."
She took a small step back, her shoulders drawn in tight. Her voice stayed steady—miraculously—but inside, she was unraveling fast.
Carter didn't look annoyed. Just… surprised. His features softened slightly, the edge of concern pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"All right," he said gently.
She turned quickly, eager to disappear. Her hand was just brushing the doorknob—
"Black coffee."
The voice sliced through the room.
Cold. Sharp. Clipped.
Daniel.
She paused, fingers stiff on the handle. She didn't turn.
He hadn't even looked at her when he said it. He was still staring at Carter like she didn't even exist. Like he was just tossing an order to the air, assuming someone—she—would handle it.
Her jaw clenched.
Seriously?
He didn't even specify how he wanted it. No "please," no detail, just a barked-out demand like she was a fucking servant. Like he expected her to know exactly how he took it without ever being told.
The memory of him yelling at her in that car came rushing back—hot and humiliating.
Still, she said nothing. Just nodded stiffly and left, the weight of Daniel's dismissal pressing into her spine like ice.
Out in the hallway, her heels clicked too loudly against the marble floor. She passed by a few coworkers—people who raised their brows or pretended not to notice her flushed face—and made her way to the breakroom.
The moment the door shut behind her, she let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the kettle.
Of course Daniel was there.
Of course he had to ruin the one moment she was trying to be brave, trying to say something important to Carter.
The kettle wasn't even boiling yet. She flicked the switch and leaned against the counter, dragging in a shaky breath.
Carter hadn't been angry. That was… something. His voice had still been gentle. Patient, even. And the way he'd said her name—God. It had almost undone her. She had barely been able to speak. It was stupid, really. The way her heart still jumped at just hearing him say her name.
When the water finally boiled, she grabbed the mug and selected the darkest roast on the shelf. No sweetness. No fancy flavors. If Daniel wanted it black, she'd give him black.
She poured the water slowly, letting the steam rise into her face. The scent was rich, strong. She added the barest splash of creamer—just enough to cut the bitterness, though she doubted he'd even notice. She stirred it once, then again, each circle in the mug a silent fuck you she didn't dare say out loud.
She didn't add sugar.
Because black coffee didn't fucking need sugar. Everyone knew that. And she wasn't going to bend over backwards for a man who couldn't even look her in the eye when he spoke.
Mug in hand, she left the breakroom and headed back toward the office.
Her legs felt heavier with every step, the closer she got.
The door loomed again.
Her stomach twisted with anxiety, coiling so tight it was hard to breathe. She was going to have to walk in there again. Quiet. Composed. Like nothing had happened. Like she wasn't secretly imagining spilling the coffee all over Daniel's smug designer suit.
Fuck it
She squared her shoulders, deepened her breath, and pushed the door open.