"I, uh… wanted to ask you something," Mr. Wilson said finally, voice low, gaze fixed on the polished floor like it held the answer to life's questions.
Danica tilted her head, eyes narrowing just slightly. Curiosity sparked in the depths of her dark irises. She folded her arms across her chest and leaned back, every inch the composed CEO who could crush a boardroom or a man's ego without breaking a sweat.
"What is it?" Her voice was calm, smooth—like silk covering steel.
Mr. Wilson swallowed hard. "My wife… she's pregnant. With our third. So I was hoping—"
But he didn't get to finish.
"You can take as many leaves as you need," she interrupted, like it was the easiest decision in the world. A soft, rare smile curved her lips. "Take care of her. Take care of your family."
Mr. Wilson stood frozen for a heartbeat, as if his ears had deceived him. The word approved still echoed in the grand, mahogany-lined office like a bell chime in a quiet cathedral.
