Architectural Digest would’ve had a field day had they known the place existed. Every knickknack had its place. A three-inch-thick glass table here, a delicate porcelain vase there. Reclaimed barn wood planks criss-crossed the once bland ceiling that was now painted gravel gray. The faint scent of fresh mint. Not a smudge or a speck of dust. That probably had something to do with the fact that the cleaning staff was required to service the spacious office no less than twice a day, including weekends. Kingsley Coles liked things his way and no other. He could remember few times in his life when things hadn’t turned out the way he planned. He’d paid for every upgrade in his office out of his personal funds, of which he had plenty. It was a matter of pride, not vanity. When visitors entered his sanctum, they got an instant feel for the man lording over it. Precise. Level. Commanding. So as he sat back in his silver Herman Miller chair, he had little doubt how the current situation would unfold.
