ELENA

“Elena. What are you still doing in my study?”

His voice was low, calm, the same controlled tone he used in boardrooms when he already knew the answer. Alexander stood in the doorway of the study, dark suit slightly rumpled, tie loosened, the faint scent of another woman’s perfume still clinging to him. Midnight city light cut across his face. His eyes found me instantly—still in his leather chair, still in the same black work dress, thighs pressed so tightly together I could feel how soaked the lace between them had become.

I rose slowly. My legs felt unsteady. Every nerve under my skin was screaming.

“I booked the...