"I thought the office was empty when I kissed my billionaire boss’s poster—until his real voice whispered from behind me. "

At 6:30 a.m. Greenwich Mean Time, the Gulfstream touched down smoothly on the wet tarmac of RAF Northolt private airport outside London.

A sleek black Maybach was waiting for them on the apron.

The rain was falling in a steady, gray drizzle, turning the London streets into a dark mirror reflecting the classic stone facades of Mayfair as the car sped toward the heart of the city.

The Maybach pulled up before the grand entrance of The Savoy Hotel.

"We have two hours before the meeting at Vanguard’s headquarters," Adrian said, stepping out of the car and offering his hand to Nora as she climbed out into the cool morning air.

Nora hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing her hand in his. His grip was warm, firm, and completely steady, making her heart skip an erratic beat before she pulled her hand back politely.

They were escorted through the opulent, gold-leafed lobby of the hotel by the head concierge.

"Mr. Blackwell," the concierge said with a crisp British accent. "Your executive suite on the fifth floor is prepared. Due to a plumbing maintenance issue in the adjacent wing, we have upgraded your primary analyst to the connecting deluxe parlor room."

Nora froze slightly. "Connecting?"

"There is a locked double door between the suites, Miss Bennett," Victoria Vance explained smoothly from behind them, holding her iPad. "It allows for immediate strategic access prior to high-level meetings. It is standard protocol for executive travel."

"Right," Nora said, clearing her throat. "Standard protocol."

When they reached the fifth floor, the suite opened into a staggering space featuring plush velvet sofas, a marble fireplace, and towering windows overlooking the River Thames and the foggy outline of the London Eye.

Nora stepped into her private connecting room, which was equally luxurious, equipped with a wide king-sized bed, a marble bathroom, and a fresh suit garment bag hanging on the wardrobe door.

She unzipped the garment bag. Inside was a breathtaking, custom-tailored dark charcoal skirt suit made of Italian wool, complete with a crisp silk blouse. A small card was pinned to the sleeve:

Courtesy of the CEO's office. Precision requires proper armor. — A.B.

Nora touched the fine silk of the blouse, a soft, breathless smile touching her lips.

Thirty minutes later, Nora stepped out of her connecting room into the main parlor.

She had styled her dark hair into a sleek, professional bun, put on minimal makeup, and worn the tailored charcoal suit, which fit her curves so perfectly it looked as if it had been hand-stitched by a master tailor in Milan.

Adrian was standing near the fireplace, wearing a pristine double-breasted navy suit, adjusting his cufflinks.

He turned as he heard her heels click against the parquet floor.

Adrian stopped dead in his tracks.

For four long seconds, the powerful, unflappable CEO of Blackwell Meridian simply stared at her. His dark eyes swept slowly down the tailored charcoal suit, taking in her poised, confident stance, before returning to meet her gaze.

Nora felt her pulse hammer against her collarbone. "Does it meet your standards, Mr. Blackwell?"

Adrian took a slow breath, adjusting his collar. A dark, intense light flickered deep within his eyes.

"Miss Bennett," Adrian said, his voice lower and raspier than usual. "It doesn't just meet my standards. It makes me question why I ever allowed you to wear a navy blazer on the nineteenth floor."

Nora’s lips curved into a quiet, dangerous smile. "Good. Then let's go take six hundred million dollars off Lord Vanguard's price."