Leonard barely registered the sound of his name the first time. It was only after the third call—sharper, more impatient—that he blinked out of the haze of memory.
"Mr. Ford," Becca said, her brows arched as she stood just a few feet from his desk, tablet in hand. "Did you hear what I just said?"
Leonard exhaled and adjusted his posture, the distant weight of old memories slowly peeling off his expression like fog burned away by daylight.
"Sorry," he said, his voice rougher than he liked. "Got a bit distracted. Go on."
Becca hesitated a second longer before launching back into her report about the Rothman account. Leonard tried—he really tried—to focus. Her voice was steady, her tone professional, and her notes well-prepared as always, but the sharp echo of Miranda's laugh and the sting of betrayal were still burning behind his eyes. The image of her half-naked on another man's lap, that smug expression on both their faces… it had carved itself deep.
