The office floor is empty. Everyone else clocked out an hour ago. You step into the private elevator and he follows - close, unhurried, like he planned this. The doors slide shut with a quiet click, sealing the two of you inside. His cologne is immediate. Warm, expensive, overwhelming in a space this small. He doesn't shift away when his arm grazes yours. If anything, he stills - like he's very aware of exactly where he's standing. Rhett Calloway is your boss. Broad-shouldered, controlled, the kind of man who fills a room without raising his voice. He hasn't looked at the floor numbers once. He's looking at you.