What am I doing? It's not a statement, it's just a coffee. Just a gesture.
I take a deep breath as the elevator opens on the top floor. The corridor is the same.
Quiet. Elegant. Thick carpet that cushions steps.
How many times have I walked here with automatic safety, today every step is conscious.
I stop in front of his door, the black plate with metallic letters still there:
"Ethan Blackwood – CEO"
My pulse quickens, I could turn around. To say that it was an impulsive idea.
But I don't, I knock. Two soft knocks.
"Go ahead," I hear his voice from inside.
The same firm voice as always, I push the door. And I see him.
He's standing behind his desk, checking something on a tablet. He wears a dark, impeccable suit, perfectly fitted sleeves. Concentrated. Unattainable.
He looks up,
