The Washington D.C. skyline loomed, a testament to power and ambition, much like the man Ella Stanford worked for. Inside the gleaming skyscraper of Summers Entertainment, Ella, ever the picture of cool professionalism, navigated the bustling corridors. She offered a polite smile to the security guard, tapped her card at the electronic gates, and rode the elevator to the executive floor. Her own modest office, neatly organized, served as a buffer to the grand, glass-walled domain of Javier Summers.

It was ten minutes before one, the quiet lull before her boss's return from lunch. Ella hung her jacket, smoothed her hair, and settled at her desk, anticipating the usual post-lunch banter. "How’s my wonderful professional secretary doing?" Javier's voice, laced with its usual smugness, drifted from the doorway. Ella gritted her teeth, recognizing the tell-tale sign of another conquest. He was missing his tie, his collar undone, radiating a satisfaction that had nothing to do with business deals.

She responded with her customary polite smile and formal address, a stark contrast to his casual arrogance. Their exchange was a familiar dance of veiled jabs and cool retorts, until he delivered an unexpected invitation: "You know you are coming, right?" to his birthday party. The question hung in the air, a ripple in their carefully constructed professional dynamic, and for the first time, Javier Summers called her by her first name.