GARRISON

The heavy oak door felt cold against my palm as I leaned against it.

Downstairs, the low electronic hum of Julian’s tracking system had gone quiet, but I could still feel his sharp amber eyes watching me from the security room. That bastard had spent the entire forty-minute drive from JFK trying to break through my calm, controlled front with his quiet, mocking warnings.

He wanted me to make a mistake. He was waiting for even the smallest sign that I was jealous or too protective of Roxie. One wrong look, one wrong reaction, and he would have everything he needed to challenge my position as chairman and take...