I stared at him, bewildered. “Sir?”

He gestured toward the private elevator. “Do you think I walk through the public lobby at nine a.m. to mingle, Ms. Bellamy? I’ve been reading HR’s rejected pile all week. I knew exactly who you were the second you squared your shoulders at that guard.”

He stepped aside. “I’ve been waiting for you. Let’s go.”

Chapter 3 — The Stolen Binder

I expected a sterile glass conference room, three obligatory questions to save face, and a polite dismissal.

Instead he led me into his sprawling top-floor office, pointed me toward a marble-lined bathroom, and handed me an oversized navy blazer his assistant had produced from somewhere.

When I emerged — barefoot, because both shoes were a lost cause, my hair roughly towel-dried — I found Grayson standing by his desk.