The elevator chimed softly as it arrived at the top floor of Roc Enterprises. Gun Nash stepped out, clutching a small black toolkit against his side like a shield. His badge felt heavy on his chest.
The 42nd floor didn't look like it belonged in the same building as the tech department. It was quiet, pristine, every detail sharpened by the kind of money that didn't blink at custom floor tiles and imported wood paneling. Gun hesitated just long enough to take in the silence before stepping forward.
He wasn't nervous exactly—he was good at his job. But walking into the power center of a multi-billion dollar company made him... alert.
"Gun Nash?" came a voice from down the corridor.
Gun turned. A man was waiting near the glass conference room. Sharp suit, dark eyes. Stature of someone who never had to raise his voice to get a room's attention. Gun recognized him immediately.
Win Roc.
The Win Roc.
Heir to Roc Enterprises. COO at twenty-nine. Famously impenetrable.
"Yes, sir," Gun replied.
Win gestured toward an office down the hall. "We're having dashboard latency on the new internal systems. I was told you've worked on the backend integration?"
Gun nodded, adjusting the strap on his toolkit. "Yes, sir. I was part of the patch rollout team this week."
Win didn't wait for further explanation. He turned and walked.
Gun followed.
Win walked with crisp efficiency, hands behind his back, eyes forward. He said nothing as they passed a row of conference rooms, and Gun was content to keep the silence. He didn't feel the need to fill it. In a strange way, that seemed to be the right move.
They stopped outside a clean, minimally furnished executive office.
"The system's housed in the wall cabinet behind my desk," Win said, stepping aside. "Take whatever time you need."
"Understood," Gun said, already lowering to one knee to access the panel. He opened his toolkit with practiced ease and got to work.
Win stood a few feet away, hands still folded behind his back, eyes shifting once—just once—to where Gun crouched. Dark jeans, clean sneakers, sleeves rolled up. His forearms were lean, dusted with fine hair. He worked quickly, silently, methodically. And when he looked up to check a reading on the wall-mounted screen, there was an unguarded moment where his profile caught the light.
Win looked away almost immediately.
Breathtakingly handsome, he thought.
An idle observation. Noted and filed away. The kind of observation one makes about a rare painting or a warm sunrise. It didn't change anything.
"Latency should stabilize in the next ten minutes," Gun said, standing.
Win nodded. "Send me confirmation when you're back at your desk."
"Yes, sir."
Gun left with the same quiet grace he arrived with. The elevator doors closed behind him, and the floor fell silent again.
Win returned to his desk. Opened his laptop. Typed two words.
System stabilizing.
Paused.
Then leaned back in his chair and let the moment pass.
Gun Nash took the elevator back down to floor seventeen with the kind of calm he'd learned to fake early in life. His heart wasn't racing, but it wasn't not racing either. Not because of the tech issue—he could do system diagnostics in his sleep—but because of the man who had watched him work without saying a single unnecessary word.
Win Roc.
Gun had seen him in press releases and morning video updates, usually flanked by board members or stiff-looking executives. He hadn't expected him to be so... still. So precise. The man moved like he'd been carved out of decision-making itself.
He slid into his desk chair and typed up the follow-up email.
---
To: Win Roc
From: Gun Nash
Subject: Dashboard Sync Status – Confirmed Stable
Hello Mr. Roc,
Per our earlier discussion, I've monitored the internal dashboard and can confirm that latency has stabilized across all test nodes.
Please don't hesitate to reach out if further issues arise.
Best,
Gun Nash
Tier II Systems Support
Roc Enterprises
---
He read it twice. No typos. No fluff. Sent.
By the time the next hour rolled by, Gun was deep in a different ticket—something messy involving third-party software and two panicked managers in the logistics department. The kind of chaos that smelled faintly of printer toner and blame-shifting.
He didn't expect a reply.
But Win Roc answered.
---
To: Gun Nash
From: Win Roc
Subject: RE: Dashboard Sync Status – Confirmed Stable
Thank you. Noted.
–W
---
Gun blinked. Just that? Noted? No follow-up? No managerial loop-in or CC to five different people?
He stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary, then chuckled softly to himself. Win Roc was apparently a man of very few, very exact words.
Still, something about seeing that single –W at the end of the message left a quiet impression.
Across the city, Win sat alone in his office. He reread the email before archiving it. He didn't need to reread it, of course. But there was something disarmingly neat about the way Gun signed his name. Not just "Gun" or "G. Nash"—he took the time to write it clean and complete, like someone who wanted his words to be taken seriously, even if they were just a few lines.
Cute, Win thought again, more precisely this time.
Then he shook the thought loose like dust from his shoulder and turned back to his financial reports.
The company wasn't going to run itself.