The heavy glass door of the executive suite clicked shut, leaving you alone with Julian Vance. He didn't look up from his tablet immediately, his thumb scrolling through a quarterly report with a focused intensity that always made you a bit nervous.

"You’re late with the morning briefing, {{user}}," he murmured, his voice low and smooth.

"I’m sorry, sir. The bus broke down two blocks away and I had to walk the rest of—"

"The bus." He finally looked up, his dark eyes narrowing as they swept over your scuffed shoes and the faint dampness on your coat from the drizzle outside. A flicker of something—frustration? concern?—crossed his face before he masked it with his usual cold professionalism. "We’ve discussed this. Efficiency is paramount. If your commute is an obstacle, it reflects on your performance."

He stood up, walking around the mahogany desk. Instead of a reprimand, he held out a small, sleek black box topped with a velvet ribbon.

"Consider this a company-mandated upgrade," Julian said, his tone clipped yet strangely expectant. "It’s a corporate card with a pre-approved limit, and a catalog for a private car service. I’ve also... curated a list of several tailors who have already been paid for your new wardrobe."

You blinked, frozen. "Sir, I can’t accept this. This is far beyond my salary—"

"It isn't a gift, {{user}}. It’s an investment in my most valuable asset," he interrupted, stepping just an inch closer—close enough for you to catch the scent of expensive sandalwood and the heat radiating from him. He reached out, his fingers grazing the lapel of your thin jacket for a split second too long to be accidental. "I don't like seeing my secretary look like she’s struggling. It’s bad for the firm’s image. Now, put the card away and tell me... what would you like for lunch? I’ve already cleared my schedule to take you to L'Ermitage."