Daniel sighed.
“Fine.”
They walked toward the elevator.
At the door, he stopped.
Looked back at the red monitors.
Alexandra noticed.
“They have it.”
“Maybe.”
“Do you trust them?”
“Yes.”
“Then go.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Do you?”
She understood the real question.
Did she trust them after forty minutes as CEO?
No.
But leadership did not allow her to say that carelessly.
“I trust the process we just built.”
Daniel studied her.
Then nodded.
The elevator opened.
He stepped inside.
Alexandra followed.
He looked surprised.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure you leave.”
“I know where the lobby is.”
“I’m beginning to suspect you don’t know where home is.”
The doors closed.
Silence.
For the first time since the confrontation, nobody else was watching.
Daniel leaned against the wall.
Alexandra held his laptop.
He looked at her outfit.
White shirt.
Dark tie.
Pinstripe skirt.
Gold buttons.
Heels.
Dark cat-eye glasses she had pushed onto the top of her head.
“You dressed like this for an operations tour?”
She glanced down.
“Is there a problem?”
“No.”
“It’s very…”
“What?”
“CEO.”
Alexandra smiled despite herself.
“You say that like an insult.”
“Wasn’t.”
His eyes lingered half a second too long.
She noticed.
The elevator seemed smaller.
She asked:
“What were you going to say before I took your badge?”
Daniel’s gaze returned to her face.
“That your security team was chasing noise.”
“No.”
“Before that.”
He knew.
The moment when she had accused him of sleeping.
He looked away.
“Nothing useful.”
“Try me.”
The elevator continued downward.
Daniel spoke quietly.
“I was going to tell you that if you wanted to fire me, wait until six.”
“Why?”
“My daughter wakes at six.”
Alexandra’s expression changed.
“You have a daughter?”
“Seven.”
“And?”
“I wanted time to tell her before HR called.”
Something inside Alexandra shifted.
She looked at him differently.
He was thirty-four.
She had assumed single.
No ring.
Apparently she had assumed more than one thing that morning.
“Her mother?”
Daniel looked toward the elevator numbers.
“Gone.”
Alexandra immediately regretted asking.
“I’m sorry.”
“Cancer.”
“How long?”
“Three years.”
The elevator reached the lobby.
The doors opened.
Neither moved for a moment.
Daniel looked at her.
“You don’t have to feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t.”
He raised an eyebrow.
Alexandra handed him the laptop.
“I feel sorry for whoever lets you work forty hours straight because you’re too stubborn to stop.”
“That would currently be you.”
She stared.
He smiled.
Then stepped out.
Alexandra watched him cross the lobby.