Senator Jones’ POV

The soft hum of jazz floats through my study as I pour myself a glass of whiskey. It’s late, but I’ve never been much of a sleeper. Too many things always need watching, controlling. Especially now.

My phone vibrates against the oak desk. I see the caller ID and smile faintly before answering.

“Boss,” I say smoothly, settling into the leather armchair.

“Jones,” he replies, his voice sharp and cold as ever. “How’s Flora coping at the company? Is she giving you trouble?”

I swirl the amber liquid in my glass, taking a moment before responding. “She almost did,” I admit. “She had that fire in her...