The office lobby at four thirty smelled of the same scorched coffee it always had, and Derek Vance was standing by the reception desk with his head thrown back, laughing at something the facilities director had said.

I came in through the revolving door with the certificate folder in my bag and stopped six feet away from him.

He looked at me the way he looked at a supply invoice.

“Charlotte.

I heard about the basement.” He tapped his signet ring on the laminate counter, once, then twice.

“The offer stands until Friday.”

“Does it, now.”

“Don’t sulk over it.