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Of course he does.

I’ve seen him walk into meetings, read a room in under thirty seconds, and leave with exactly what he wanted. People assume his success comes from charm, but charm is just the delivery system.

Theo pays attention. He collects reactions, files them away, and circles back later when they’re useful.

Which means the longer he stays in this office, the greater the chance he starts drawing conclusions I’d rather he keep to himself.

“What did you actually come in here for?” I ask.

Theo blinks as though the question genuinely surprises him. “That is an excellent question.”

“If memory has abandoned you, the elevator’s right outside.”

A few minutes later he finally remembers why he came upstairs, delivers the information he’d interrupted us to share, and disappears back into the hallway before he can derail the interview any further.

Once the door closes, Emma and I settle back into the conversation with considerably fewer distractions. She answers the remaining questions with the same confidence she’s shown all afternoon, and before long she’s closing her portfolio and getting to her feet.

“Thank you for your time.”

I stand automatically.

Years in security left me with habits that never quite disappeared. I still typically rise when people enter or leave a room, still walk guests to elevators, still find myself paying attention to exits before I pay attention to anything else.

Mom calls it excessive manners. Theo claims it’s evidence that I need therapy. Neither opinion has convinced me to change.

“Thank you for coming.”

Emma shifts the portfolio under her arm. “I’ll hear from HR?”

“Assuming they don’t uncover an elaborate résumé fraud operation.”

Her smile appears. “I knew the fake qualifications were a mistake.”

“Three fictional degrees felt ambitious.”

“That’s why I reduced it to two.”

The laugh that threatens never quite escapes, but judging by the look she gives me, she knows it came close.

She turns toward the door, then pauses just before stepping into the hallway. “Have a good afternoon, Bane.”

“You too, Emma.”

I watch her walk away.

The interview is finished. Work should resume. My schedule is still packed, my inbox is still full, and several meetings are waiting for my attention.

Instead, I stare at an empty doorway.

Eventually I move toward the windows overlooking Midtown and tell myself the strange dissatisfaction creeping through my thoughts has everything to do with a disrupted workday and absolutely nothing to do with Emma Love.

The explanation survives for approximately thirty seconds.

The office door opens.

“Theo.”

Behind me, he laughs. “You didn’t even turn around.”