That is, until I walked into Saff’s office.

And that damn strawberry sweet cream scent was all around me, making me damn near groan as I took a deep breath.

Her office was on a high floor of a mid-size building that was not exactly what I’d been expecting. Though, why I’d conjured up any thoughts about her office was beyond me.

It suddenly struck me how little I actually knew about Saff as a person. Even as a businesswoman.

I had no idea what she did, aside from holding the deed for the building I wanted. So there was no reason for me to have assumed she was as wealthy as I was.

The elevator opened to a hallway, with two offices on each side.

Saff’s was the last on the alley side.

A small metal placard sat in the holder on the door.

Amato Holdings.

That was entirely too ambiguous to suggest any specific type of enterprise.

I pushed open a door and was met with an office straight out of the ‘90s: drop ceilings with harsh fluorescent lights, gray and white tile floors, and a boxy, solid, u-shaped reception desk in speckled gray.

There’d clearly been some attempts to modernize things. The black velvet couches sat facing a framed TV. There was a coffee bar—complete with a fridge—set up against the wall the door was on. It even smelled faintly of fresh paint.

“Mr. Vale,” Bastian greeted me, rising from his creaky chair.

Something about him seemed wrong to me right then. Nothing felt off about him at my office, but somehow, at his, there was just something about him that I couldn’t put my finger on. It was almost like nothing about him screamed ‘assistant.’

“Bastian,” I said, giving him a nod.

“Miss Amato is expecting you,” he said, reaching to close his suit button before moving out from behind his desk to walk me toward the solid room off of the waiting room. Even the door was solid wood. Or, rather, some sort of fake wood.

I guess Saff liked her privacy while working.

Bastian knocked twice before reaching to open the door.

“Mr. Vale for you.”

I don’t know if Saff mouthed something to him, or made a face, or what, but Bastian gave her wide eyes and a strangely tight jaw before shooting me a fake smile.

What was with their dynamic?

“She’s expecting you,” he said, waving me in. “Can I get you a coffee?”

“Sure. Black is fine.”

With that, I moved inside and Bastian closed the door.

Once again, I was hit with the scent of strawberry sweet cream. Only this time, it didn’t seem to be coming from Saff herself but the candle burning on a bookshelf sitting behind her desk.

The desk itself was a simple wooden one with brass pin legs. The surface featured a pen holder, a laptop, and a single notebook.