Attia had been trapped in the budget meeting for nearly two hours.
Numbers blurred before his eyes. Department heads droned on about allocations and resources, their voices blending into a monotonous hum that grated against his already frayed nerves. He had signed off on proposals, rejected others, and mediated disputes with the patience of a man who had learned long ago that bureaucracy was a battlefield like any other.
Then his phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen.
Brentley: *Miss Monica Zarg is here. She insists on seeing you.*
Attia's blood turned to ice.
For a second, he forgot to breathe. The pen in his hand stopped moving. The voices around him faded to static.
*Fuck.*
Monica was like a pest—one that refused to be swatted away no matter how many times he tried. He had expe
