A smooth, gentle voice drifted in from the doorway.
We both turned.
Douglas Gilbert stood at the threshold in a tailored charcoal suit, his handsome face arranged into just the right amount of apologetic concern.
His gaze drifted between us before settling on me.
A flicker of satisfaction passed through his eyes. Barely perceptible.
Nauseating.
"Get out."
I pointed toward the door.
Cheryl's expression shifted instantly.
"Drew! What kind of way is that to talk to someone?"
She strode over to Douglas and looped her arm through his as if it were second nature.
"Douglas is here to deliver the quarterly report. And this is my office. Who gave you the right to tell him to leave?"
She turned to Douglas, her voice softening. "Ignore Drew. He clearly woke up on the wrong side of the bed today."
Douglas put on an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry, Mr. Dickerson. I didn't realize you two were in the middle of something."
"I'll go."
He made as if to turn, but Cheryl held his arm firmly in place.
"You're not going anywhere." Cheryl shot me a cold glance. "The one who should leave is the person making a scene over nothing."