"She is important to me—stay out of her way," Valentin murmured; a bracelet hit the marble with a sharp crack.
"Good morning, Mr. Vitale." Fernanda Hayes set the tray down with her hands steady, palms warmed by the coffee cups. The executive suite smelled of citrus cleaner and new leather. Lights slid across the glass like coins. She kept her eyes on the tray.
Dahlia Gomes watched the cups like she might decide which one deserved a smile. Her nails tapped once on the rim. "You always get the foam wrong," Dahlia said. "I said skim, not foam, Fernanda."
"I'll fix that," Fernanda said. Her voice was small but straight. She lifted a cup toward Dahlia and tilted it just to the edge, ready to correct the mistake with a smile she didn't give for free.
Valentin's hand opened flat on the table. "Don't explain," he said.
Dahlia's laugh moved across the room like an order. "Don't explain, don't apologize, just—" She reached for the bracelet on her wrist, the one everyone photographed of her, a chain of cold gold that read luxury without words. She wore it like a headline.
The bracelet slipped. It hit the marble. It snapped open and skittered. The sound cut the morning.
Fernanda bent reflexively to pick up the pieces before the bracelet could roll into a shadow. Her fingers brushed cool metal. Dahlia's hand curled over Fernanda's.
"Clumsy," Dahlia said. Her voice was
