Over the next two hours, the sixth floor of Hanigan Investments gradually came to life, though with a noticeable restraint compared to previous mornings. Employees arrived steadily, most making a conscious effort to clock in before the now-firm eight AM deadline Hank had implicitly established. The initial morning pleasantries were exchanged in hushed tones, heads bent low over coffee cups. Every arrival involved a subtle, curious glance towards the Director’s corner office. Through the open blinds, they could see Hank working diligently at the temporary desk positioned just outside, while inside his office, seated in his executive chair, a young, unfamiliar girl was laser-focused on his laptop.

  The hastily taped sign on the door… "DO NOT DISTURB, TEST IN PROGRESS"… only fueled the rampant speculation whispered between cubicles. Gloria, fielding discreet inquiries with practiced efficiency, simply confirmed, "She's Mr. Avery's newly adopted daughter, taking an important assessment." The word spread like quiet static: the new boss had adopted a daughter, and she was currently undergoing some kind of placement test in his office. The revelation added another layer of intrigue to the enigmatic Mr. Avery. Out of a mixture of curiosity and perhaps a healthy dose of respect (or fear, after the previous day's dramatic firings), a blanket of focused quiet settled over the floor. Keyboards clicked with renewed diligence, voices were kept low, and furtive glances were frequently cast towards the Director’s glass-walled office.

  Precisely at nine forty-seven AM, nearly three hours after she began, the girl inside the office… Mona… finally leaned back, closing the laptop screen with a soft click. A small, weary but satisfied smile touched her lips. She stretched her arms above her head, then slid out of the large chair and walked purposefully towards the door.

  As the door opened, Hank immediately stood, pushing his own chair back. He met her in the doorway, his expression warm and encouraging. "So, done?" he asked softly.

  Mona nodded, looking tired but relieved. "Yep. All finished."

  "Okay," Hank said, gently taking the laptop from her. "Let me take a look, check the results, and I’ll let you know how you did." He turned to Gloria, who had been subtly observing the interaction. "Gloria, this is my daughter, Mona. Mona, this is Gloria, my indispensable assistant. She'll get you a drink or anything you need while you wait."

  Gloria offered Mona a warm, genuine smile. "Nice to meet you, Mona. Can I get you some water? Juice?"

  Mona returned the smile shyly. "Water would be great, thank you."

  Hank nodded his approval, then stepped back into his office, closing the door firmly behind him. He sat down at his desk, the weight of anticipation settling over him. Through the blinds, he could see the entire office floor had paused, all eyes seemingly fixed on his closed door, waiting. He took a breath and opened the laptop, navigating to the test results file.

  The office remained unnaturally quiet. Everyone saw Hank diligently reviewing the girl’s work on the screen. Twenty minutes stretched into what felt like an hour under the weight of the collective, silent scrutiny. Finally, Hank closed the laptop, a slow, almost imperceptible smile spreading across his face. He stood up, tucked the laptop securely under his arm, and walked purposefully across the office floor towards Miss Hanigan’s adjacent office. He knocked once.

  "Come," Constance’s voice called out, clear and immediate. Hank disappeared inside.

  The moment Hank’s door closed, Gloria leaned over towards Mona, who was sipping her water. "Okay, spill," Gloria whispered, her curiosity palpable. "What kind of crazy test did he have you doing in there for almost three hours?"

  Mona looked up, a mischievous sparkle entering her eyes, the earlier weariness momentarily forgotten. "College graduation aptitude test," she said simply.

  Gloria gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "That test?" she whispered incredulously. She remembered taking it herself years ago, the grueling sections on advanced logic, critical analysis, complex problem-solving. She’d barely scraped by with a ninety-two percent after weeks of studying. "But… you’re only fourteen!"

  Mona just shrugged, a hint of pride in her small smile.

  Gloria stared at her, utterly flabbergasted. Word spread through the office network like wildfire via hushed whispers and instant messages. The boss’s kid… the fourteen-year-old… took the college grad aptitude test! A buzz of disbelief and intense curiosity filled the sixth floor, replacing the earlier quiet focus. Everyone was now watching Constance’s door, desperate to know the outcome.

  ---

  Inside the quiet luxury of Constance's office, the air smelled faintly of expensive perfume and focused ambition. Hank walked directly to her large, polished desk, placing the laptop down gently and turning the screen towards her without a word. His expression was a mixture of pride and quiet amusement.

  "Alright, what miracle did our prodigy perform?" Constance asked, leaning forward in her high-backed leather chair, her blue eyes alight with curiosity. She watched as Hank navigated to the test results file.

  Her gaze scanned the summary page, then sharpened, zeroing in on the final score displayed in bold digital numbers at the top. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows shot upwards. "Ninety-nine… percent?" she breathed, the word catching in her throat. She looked up at Hank, her expression one of utter disbelief. "Ninety-nine? Hank, that's… that's virtually impossible." She leaned back slowly, shaking her head as a low whistle escaped her lips. "Fuck, she is a genius," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

  Hank nodded, leaning casually against the edge of her desk, arms folded. A proud smirk played on his lips. "Tell me about it," he whispered back conspiratorially. "Highest score I ever managed on that beast was a ninety-six."

  Constance looked up at him, a competitive sparkle entering her eyes, even amidst her awe at Mona's score. "Ninety-eight," she countered softly, a triumphant little smile touching her lips.

  Hank threw his head back and laughed, a genuine, appreciative sound that warmed the room. "Alright, alright, you win that round," he conceded playfully. He paused, then added, his eyes twinkling, "So… about that bet we made earlier? I believe I specified Mojito Green again…"

  Constance chuckled, shaking her head in mock exasperation, though her eyes shone with affection. "Okay, babe," she conceded gracefully, picking up her desk phone. "You get your car. I already called Jill over at the dealership this morning, actually." She winked. "She got another Mojito Rubicon in late last night on a transfer. Said she saw the news reports about the crash and your… heroic intervention. She was practically holding it for you, was expecting my call." Constance finished telling him about her brief call with Jill, confirming the arrangements.

  She leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful as she looked towards the closed office door. "Take Mona with you when you go pick it up this afternoon," she instructed. "Let her feel like part of the celebration. And when you get back, tell her she officially starts work tomorrow morning. Her desk will be set up right next to Bonnie's and Violet's on the sixth floor. Violet can start mentoring her."

  Hank smiled, the image of the three intelligent, capable women working together… Violet, Bonnie, and now Mona… filling him with a sense of satisfaction. "Think she'll be running this whole company in a few years?" he asked, only half-joking, genuinely impressed by Mona's intellect.

  Constance laughed again, the sound rich and full. "Yeah…" she admitted, looking towards the door as if picturing the fourteen-year-old already commanding board meetings. "Yeah… I actually do."

  Hank stood then, the easy camaraderie shifting back into the familiar intimacy that defined their connection. He leaned down, bracing his hands on the arms of her chair, and kissed her deeply, a lingering exploration that spoke volumes. "That is our daughter out there, Constance," he whispered against her lips, the words filled with the weight of their shared commitment, their unconventional but deeply felt family.

  Constance smiled, her eyes softening as she met his gaze, her hand coming up to gently cup his cheek. She nodded, a silent affirmation sealing their bond. "Yes, Hank," she murmured. "She is."

  Hank stepped out of Constance’s office, the heavy door left open. Instantly, a hush fell over the sixth floor. Keyboards stilled, quiet conversations ceased, and dozens of pairs of eyes swiveled in his direction, alight with unconcealed curiosity. Hank paused for a beat, feeling the weight of their collective gaze. He glanced back over his shoulder; Constance stood framed in her doorway, a subtle, amused smile playing on her lips as she gave him a small, encouraging nod. He turned back to face the office floor, his own expression carefully neutral, though a spark of pride simmered beneath the surface.

  Mona, who had been waiting patiently by Gloria’s desk, practically vibrated with anticipation. “So?” she asked the moment he was within earshot, her voice eager, hopeful.

  Hank stopped beside her, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. He leaned down slightly. “How do you think you did?” he countered, enjoying the suspense.

  Mona tossed her head back, a flash of fierce confidence in her eyes, momentarily eclipsing her youth. “Not to boast…” she began, her voice filled with conviction, “…but I think I fucking aced it.”

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  Hank laughed, a genuine, warm sound that seemed to momentarily break the office tension. He ruffled her hair affectionately. “First off,” he said, his tone shifting to gentle admonishment, though his eyes still held amusement, “that kind of language is fine for home, Mona, but maybe let's keep it PG-13 here in the office, okay?”

  Mona smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Yes… Dad,” she replied, the word still feeling new but incredibly right.

  Hank’s smile widened. “And second off,” he continued, his voice carrying slightly so others could hear, “you start work tomorrow morning. Violet Swanson, who you already know, will be your direct mentor. She’s brilliant.”

  Mona beamed, her face lit up with pure, unadulterated joy. “Seriously? Yes!” Then her curiosity resurfaced. “What was my score?” she asked, her voice dropping slightly, suddenly aware of the listening ears around them.

  Hank looked around the office floor. He could see the question reflected in nearly every face watching them. He met Mona’s gaze, holding it for dramatic effect. “Ninety-nine,” he announced clearly.

  A collective gasp rippled through the room. Someone audibly whispered, “Holy shit.” Keyboards remained silent as murmurs of disbelief and admiration spread. None of them, seasoned professionals with college degrees, had likely achieved a score anywhere near that level on such a demanding assessment. Mona simply beamed, radiating pure, unadulterated pride.

  “Great job, Mona,” Hank said sincerely, placing a hand briefly on her shoulder. “Truly exceptional.” He glanced down at her borrowed clothes. “Alright, now that business is settled… go on upstairs, maybe explore your new home a bit. You and I are going out after work today to hit the stores.”

  Mona looked down at the simple t-shirt and jeans she wore… clean, but clearly not hers and definitely not professional attire. Then she looked pointedly at Hank’s own black shirt and dark jeans… She smirked. “Really, Dad? You’re buying clothes?”

  Gloria, who had been trying to maintain a professional composure at her desk, had to quickly cover her mouth to stifle a sudden burst of laughter.

  Hank followed Mona’s gaze down to his own attire and chuckled, caught out. “Okay, okay, you got me there,” he conceded with a grin. He knew his own wardrobe was sparse, consisting mostly of practical basics before Constance had intervened. He sighed dramatically. “Very well. Plans change.” He turned to Gloria, whose eyes were still twinkling with amusement. “Gloria, would you mind? Take Mona shopping this afternoon. She needs… well, basically everything. She arrived with very little, as it is.”

  Mona looked down again, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her face. “I actually have nothing,” she muttered quietly, the stark reality of her situation hitting her for a moment.

  Hank immediately reached into his wallet and pulled out the sleek, black corporate card Constance had given him. He handed it directly to Mona, then leaned in close, whispering the four-digit PIN number directly into her ear. She looked up at him, her eyes shining, and smiled gratefully.

  “Limit?” she asked cheekily, her confidence returning.

  Hank smiled back. “Keep it reasonable,” he instructed gently, “but I want you to have everything you need to feel comfortable and confident starting here. Get good quality stuff that will last.”

  Mona nodded, then threw her arms around his waist in a tight, spontaneous hug. “Thanks, Dad,” she whispered fiercely into his shirt.

  Hank returned the hug, his heart swelling with affection. He glanced over Mona’s head at Gloria, who offered a reassuring nod. “I’ll keep it real, boss,” she promised quietly. “Make sure she gets practical things too, not just designer labels.”

  Hank smiled his gratitude and nodded. As Mona finally released him and turned excitedly towards Gloria, ready for her shopping spree, Hank felt a familiar pull, a strong urge to reach out, grab Gloria’s hand, maybe pull her in for a quick, appreciative kiss. Her loyalty, her warmth, her efficiency… and yes, the undeniable way her dress hugged her curves… it was all incredibly appealing. But he held back. She hadn’t given him that signal yet, hadn’t made the definitive move to cross the line from professional admiration to something more personal. And despite knowing, deep down, what she likely felt, despite Constance’s teasing encouragement, he wouldn’t push. He wouldn’t become James Hanigan. Gloria had to make the first move. Until then, he would wait.

  ---

  The first two meetings Hank endured that afternoon were exercises in profound futility. The first involved a fidgety, mid-level executive from a competing firm who clearly had no authority to be there. After fifteen minutes of incoherent rambling about synergy and potential, he offered a laughably low sum to acquire Hanigan Investment outright, completely ignoring Hank’s polite but firm insistence that the company was absolutely not for sale. Hank had ended that meeting abruptly, his patience already wearing thin.

  The second meeting was even more aggravating. A slick, overly confident man in a suit two sizes too small slapped a contract down on Hank’s desk, signed boldly by James Hanigan himself. The contract promised this man’s investment group controlling interest in the company for a paltry fifty million dollars… a deal supposedly struck months ago. Hank had merely glanced at the signature lines, noted the conspicuous blank space where Constance Hanigan’s signature should have been, and slid the document back across the desk. He explained, with icy precision, that James Hanigan held zero authority to make such an offer, had never held such authority, and that the contract was worthless. The man had sputtered, threatened legal action, and was promptly shown the door by Violet, who seemed to relish the task.

  Hank sighed, massaging his temples as he waited for the third scheduled meeting. The designated time came and went. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Finally, at twenty minutes past the hour, Bonnie buzzed him. "Mr. Avery, it's Sterling Corp on line two. They apologize profusely, something about traffic, and want to reschedule for tomorrow."

  Hank didn’t even hesitate. "Bonnie, please inform Sterling Corp that if they cannot respect our appointed time, Hanigan Investment has no interest in doing business with them now or in the future. Do not bother rescheduling." He disconnected the call before Bonnie could respond. He valued punctuality and professionalism; this kind of disregard was unacceptable.

  He glanced at the clock on his wall. Three forty-five PM. Fifteen minutes until the final meeting of the day. He leaned back, letting out a long breath. This day had been a drain. Just as he contemplated pouring himself a stiff drink from the office decanter Constance kept stocked, a soft knock sounded on his door.

  Constance poked her head in, a warm, knowing smile gracing her lips. "Rough day?" she asked, stepping inside and closing the door quietly behind her.

  "You have no idea," Hank muttered, gesturing towards the visitor's chair. "Bureaucratic incompetence and delusions of grandeur, mostly."

  She chuckled softly, sinking gracefully into the chair opposite him. "Well, consider those the appetizers. The main course is about to arrive." He raised an eyebrow. "So, one meeting left?" she confirmed unnecessarily, her eyes twinkling.

  He nodded. "Don't tell me this one involves someone claiming James promised them the moon too?"

  "No," Constance said, leaning forward slightly, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "So, this meeting is going to be different." Hank looked at her, intrigued. "How so?"

  She smirked, the expression both playful and strategic. "The woman who is scheduled to meet with you, Corleen Winters, she is representing her current firm, yes. And she will likely make a token offer as per her company's instructions. But that's not why she's really here."

  Hank leaned back, folding his arms. "Okay… I'm listening."

  "Corleen is an old friend of mine, Hank. We go way back. And she is, without a doubt, the top investment strategist at her current firm. Generated more profit for them last year than their entire executive board combined. But," Constance paused, her smile fading slightly, "they keep her locked in a lower bracket for bonuses and commissions. Glass ceiling is firmly in place over there. She's brilliant, ambitious, and utterly wasted."

  Hank nodded slowly, understanding dawning. "So, she arranged this meeting under the pretense of a buyout offer…"

  "Exactly," Constance confirmed. "But she's actually here to discreetly apply for a senior position here. With us."

  Hank smirked. "And you want me to hire her, I take it?"

  Constance nodded emphatically. "Absolutely. She's a shark, Hank. Exactly the kind of talent we need to elevate Hanigan Investment even further."

  Hank leaned back again, considering. "And what kind of compensation does a 'shark' like that command? What's she making now?"

  Constance smirked. "Roughly what we just offered Mona this morning."

  Hank shook his head, a low whistle escaping his lips. Offering a top-tier strategist the same starting salary as a fourteen-year-old prodigy was insulting. "Okay," he said decisively. "Offer her a hundred K to start, plus immediate inclusion in the executive bonus structure?"

  Constance nodded approvingly. "Yes. She might push for more, try to negotiate higher based on her reputation. But I want you to hold firm initially, Hank. Offer her a three-month trial period at that salary. Let her prove herself within our structure."

  Hank nodded again, understanding the strategy. "And after the three months?"

  "If she delivers, if she lives up to her reputation… bump her immediately to one-twenty, maybe even one-thirty, plus the full bonus package," Constance confirmed.

  Hank took a deep breath, the weight of the negotiation settling on him. "You sure you don't want to handle this one yourself? She's your friend."

  Constance smirked, rising from her chair. "Oh no, my dear Director," she purred, leaning over the desk slightly, giving him a tantalizing view down the front of her blouse. "This is your hire. Besides," she added, her voice dropping to a mischievous whisper as she headed for the door, "I want to see your reaction when you meet her. Hell, we have a pool going upstairs on how long it takes." She laughed, a rich, throaty sound, and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  Hank stared after her, shaking his head slowly. "A pool," he whispered, a reluctant smile touching his lips. He knew exactly what that pool was about… how long until he inevitably ended up fucking this legendary Corleen Winters. He ran a hand through his hair. "Not happening," he said firmly to the empty office, reinforcing his resolve. He needed to maintain professionalism, especially now. He grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge Constance kept stocked for him and took a long drink, trying to cool the sudden heat rising in his chest.

  Right on cue, a sharp, confident knock sounded on the door. "Mr. Avery," Violets's voice called through the wood.

  Hank took another quick sip of water, composing himself. "Yes, please come… in…" he called out, standing as the door opened.

  The last word caught, lodged somewhere in his throat, as Corleen Winters stepped across the threshold. The air seemed to momentarily vacate the room. Hank felt like he’d been physically struck. She was, without exaggeration, a goddess poured into mortal form. Towering at least six feet tall, maybe more in the subtle heels she wore, she moved with the fluid grace of a jungle cat. Her hair was a stunning cascade of vibrant, firetruck red, impossibly long and thick, falling in waves past her shoulders. It framed a face of sculpted perfection, with high cheekbones, a determined jawline, and eyes the color of glacial ice… a startling, crystal blue that seemed to see right through him.

  She wore a tailored pantsuit, the color a deep emerald green, but it wasn't conservative. It was form-fitted, hugging every athletic curve of her very toned body. Her legs, showcased by the impeccably cut trousers, seemed impossibly long, stretching on forever. And her chest… Hank tried, desperately, not to stare, but it was impossible. Her breasts were large, full, and impossibly firm, displaying hardly any sag despite their generous size. The cream-colored silk shirt she wore beneath the open blazer was unbuttoned just enough… maybe two buttons, perhaps three – revealing a breathtaking expanse of cleavage. And quite obviously, stunningly, she wasn't wearing a bra. Her nipples were clearly, sharply visible through the thin silk, erect and demanding attention.

  Her smile, when it finally spread across her perfectly shaped lips, was dazzling, confident, the kind of smile that could launch fleets or incite wars. A smile worthy of a Greek goddess stepping down from Olympus.