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The woman flicks her hair over her shoulder and I'm immediately captivated by what I see. Rich brown skin glows beneath the lobby's warm lighting, framed by long black waves that fall well past her shoulders. High cheekbones, full lips, and dark, almond-shaped eyes that haven't backed down from Hannah once.

And the rest of her is just as distracting. A full bust, a narrow waist, and generous hips that her clothes do little to hide.

Beautiful, without question.

But it's the way she holds her ground that keeps me watching. Hannah has spent the last several minutes insulting her, and this woman hasn't given her the satisfaction of losing her composure.

“You know what?” the woman says smoothly. “I’m done here. If this is SOLAÉ’s version of luxury, you can keep it.”

She tucks her résumé into her bag before turning toward the doors, and I move before I think better of it.

“At SOLAÉ,” I say evenly, “we generally prefer our employees not insult candidates before reviewing their credentials.”

Hannah goes pale. “Mr. Baptiste—”

I ignore her as the woman pauses mid-step, then slowly turns toward me. Amber-flecked eyes meet mine without hesitation.

Interesting.

“What position were you here for?”

“Client Experience Coordinator,” she says carefully, like she still hasn’t decided whether I’m part of the problem or merely adjacent to it.

Hannah finds her voice again. “Mr. Baptiste, I can explain—”

"Hannah, you're done here. Leave your access badge with security before you go."

"Mr. Baptiste, please. I was only trying to protect the company image—"

" Our company image is built on taste, not prejudice. You've confused the two."

Hannah opens her mouth, then apparently thinks better of it. Her eyes dart toward the reception staff, most of whom have suddenly found their computer screens fascinating, before she snatches her purse from beneath the desk and walks away, heels striking the marble considerably faster than they had a few minutes ago.

I wait until she reaches security and hands over her badge before turning my attention back to the woman near the doors.

Her shoulders remain squared when I approach. Smart woman. I wouldn't be particularly eager to trust anyone wearing a SOLAÉ badge after that reception either.

“My apologies,” I say. “That interaction should never have happened.”

“I’m guessing you’re not the receptionist.”

One corner of my mouth lifts. “No.” I step forward, offering my hand. “Elias Baptiste.”

She considers my offered hand before taking it. Her grip is firm, hand warm against mine. She doesn't rush to pull away, but she doesn't linger either.

"Sloane Harper."

“I reviewed enough of that conversation to know Hannah was out of line,” I say, releasing her hand. “And for what it’s worth, your restraint was more professional than hers.”

“I was trying very hard not to embarrass myself,” she admits dryly.

“You didn’t.”

"What exactly does a man like you do at SOLAÉ?" she asks.

"A little of everything."

Her brow arches and I nearly laugh. That answer has satisfied plenty of people before, but apparently Sloane Harper isn't one of them.