Tapping your foot on the floor, you took a quick glance at your wristwatch. 12:37.

Your gaze jumped up to the display of the lift.

Fifth floor. Sixth. Seventh.

You could feel the force with which the metal cage was pulled upwards. With the rising height came the pressure on your shoulders and the feeling of the floor as it began to fade under your feet.

Fortunately there were no windows. Then you probably would have worried less about being late.

When the number fifteen lit up in red on the display, the lift stopped.

With a ping, the door opened and a wall of glass appeared.

You stepped into the wide reception area. Bare black marble made your every step echo off the glass walls.

Your eyes wandered out to the sky.

Parking spaces could be seen below you. Not much further stretched a vast area of sand and stone, fenced off and secured.

As far as you were aware, your father's company had to do with security and military services.

Mercenaries, as they called it. When the United States needed qualified personnel but couldn't provide themselves, they asked third parties for assistance.

You always knew your father was a big fish in the ocean of supply. But given the size of this company, he seemed not only big, but also unrivalled.

Impressive when it came to his life's work. Frightening when you thought that soon it would all be your responsibility.

Something in your chest tightened.

If you were honest, you weren't sure you really wanted all this. You were qualified by education, but you didn't have the conviction, nor the consistency that your father had had.

You were afraid of failing and destroying everything he had left you. And yet you did not want anyone else to lead this memory of your family.

So you decided to arrange a meeting with Graves. At least one.

Your gaze broke away from the sky and wandered down the long glass corridor.

Everything looked noble, so simple and shiny clean. If your father's name hadn't been on the deed, you would have felt uncomfortable showing up.

As you walked past some of the offices of the higher rancid employees, heads lifted, stares followed you. Emotions ranged from indifference to surprise and suspicion.

Many of them seemed older, probably veterans who had been discharged from the army but still needed the rush of war.

Your expectations of Graves were not particularly high either. He would probably be similar to the men in the offices, older than you, with some grey hair and grim faces. Maybe a few scars too.

You didn't think your father would choose someone with no practical experience as second chair for the company. He had to be good. So you wanted to treat him respectfully.

You didn't want him to think you were just a spoilt rich man's child. You were ambitious.

But there were doubts clutching your heart.

Again you glanced at your wristwatch.

Too late. Of course.

This would probably be the first bad impression. Soldiers were known to be very precise with time. Most of them were present earlier than agreed. Five minutes ahead of time. An old rule of the military.

You knew this habit from your father. He had had to serve in his youth. Conscription.

A silent curse escaped your lips as you noticed a movement out of the corner of your eye. Abruptly you stopped and raised your gaze.

There was a man waiting outside your father's old office.

You looked at the sign on the door.

Herman J. Washington. That was his name.

Slowly your eyes wandered back to the man leaning against the wall opposite the office, his arms folded in front of his chest.

He wore a black shirt, the first two buttons unbuttoned. He wore simple blue jeans and brown suit shoes. He looked formally dressed, appropriate for the occasion, but also casual.

What threw you off was a scar that stretched across his right cheek, all the way up to his ear, where it tore a gap just below the tip.

Biting your lips, you squinted your eyes and had to take a sharp breath.

"This can't be happening...", you gasped and immediately wanted to turn around again.

But at the same moment you frowned and looked at him. This was neither the right place nor the right time to be ashamed of having accidentally slept with one of your new employees.

So you gathered all your wits, shrugged and forgot everything that had happened. This moment demanded professionalism.

Taking a deep breath, you walked up to him.

"You always meet twice in life, Mister Graves.", you greeted him with a polite nod. "We are living proof."

Torn from his thoughts, Phillip blinked. It took him a moment to realise who was standing in front of him.

"Huh?", his eyebrows rose in surprise. "That's what I call a surprise. Did you fall in love with me so much after that night that you followed me to work, Suga?"

A sly grin appeared on his face. But it seemed like he was really taken by surprise to see you.

His charm lightened the mood a little.

The corners of your mouth twitched. But it wasn't enough to take away your determination to get this over with quickly.

You shook your head.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm here on business.", you said, gesturing to your father's office.

Confused, he looked at you, looked at the door and then back at you. Snorting in amusement, he crossed his arms in front of his chest again.

"Firstly, I'm flattered that you followed me all the way to work, but this is a bit extreme. Secondly, I don't remember ever telling you my surname."

"You didn't."

"A bit weird, if I may say so. And thirdly, I have an important meeting with an even more important someone soon and I know damn sure that you ain't it."

Now a hint of amusement shone through your professional attitude. Huffing, you had to smirk.

To mirror his attitude you crossed your arms in front of your chest and raised your chin.

"What makes you so sure it ain't me?", you asked.

He frowned.

"I know my people, suga. Every single face that works here. You ain't the one."

"I am though.", you replied soberly.

"I'm waiting for my bosses child. My new boss so to say."

You offered him a hand.

"Pleased to meet you, mister Graves. I'm (Y/N) Washington. Herman J. Washington was my father."