Page 91 of Claimed By The Other Brother

He checks his system, then hands me a temporary badge.

"Forty-second floor. Elevators are straight ahead."

I clip the badge to my blazer and walk toward the bank of elevators, my heels clicking against the polished marble. My reflection stares back at me from the mirrored walls—blonde hair pulled into a sleek bun, navy suit, minimal jewelry. Professional. Polished. Exactly what I need to project.

The elevator is empty when I step inside. I press 42and watch the numbers climb. My stomach flips with each floor. This is just a job. A professional engagement. Crisis management for a major client. The fact that the client is Dax Blackwell is irrelevant. The elevator chimes, and the doors slide open.

The forty-second floor is breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrap around the entire space, flooding it with natural light. The reception area features a massive desk with the Blackwell Media Corp logo etched in brushed metal behind it.

A woman in her early thirties stands from the desk, smiling warmly.

"Scarlett Bradford?"

"Yes."

"I'm Emma, Mr. Blackwell's executive assistant. Welcome to Blackwell Media." She extends her hand, and I shake it.

"How was your flight?"

"Smooth, thank you."

"Perfect. Let me give you the tour and get you settled." Emma gestures for me to follow her through a set of glass doors.

"This is the main floor for our executive and media relations teams. We have satellite offices on the fortieth and forty-first floors, but most of your work will be here."

We walk down a wide corridor. Emma points out various spaces as we pass.

"Kitchen is here—coffee, tea, full espresso machine. We stock it daily. Conference rooms are along this side,small meeting rooms on the other. Restrooms down that hall."

She leads me to a set of doors at the end of the corridor.

"This is the media center. We have editing suites, recording studios, and production equipment. You probably won't need it, but you have access if necessary."

"Impressive," I murmur, looking through the glass at the high-tech setup inside.

"Mr. Blackwell believes in giving his teams the best resources." Emma's tone is matter-of-fact, professional. "Now, let me show you your office."

We turn down another corridor, this one lined with private offices. Emma stops at a corner space near the end.

"This is yours."

She opens the door, and I step inside.

The office is stunning. Floor-to-ceiling windows on two walls offer panoramic views of Manhattan. There's a large mahogany desk, a leather chair, a sitting area with a couch and two armchairs, built-in bookshelves along one wall. It's easily twice the size of my office in Chicago.

"This is... more than I expected," I admit.

Emma smiles. "Mr. Blackwell wanted you to have everything you need." She hands me a key card.

"This gives you access to the floor, the building gym downstairs, and the executive lounge on the forty-fifth floor. There are showers in the gym if you want to work out before or after hours."

I take the key card, still processing the luxury of this setup.

"Thank you."

"There's a welcome packet on your desk—building directory, team contacts, IT information. Your laptop and phone are already set up." Emma checks her watch.

"I'd like to introduce you to the core media relations team. They're expecting you."