Marielle had never walked into a room with the intention of selling herself. But when the cold glass doors of Virelli Holdings slid open and the scent of money hit her in the face like a slap, she knew she wasn’t walking out the same woman. She could barely keep her hands from shaking as the receptionist looked up, startled by her sudden appearance in the marbled lobby.
“I need to see Mr. Virelli,” she said.
The woman in the red blazer blinked. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No. But he’ll want to see me.”
The receptionist hesitated, glanced at Marielle’s trembling fingers clutching a manila envelope, then quietly made a call. After a moment, she nodded once.
“Top floor. Take the private elevator. He’s expecting you.”
Of course he is.
Marielle didn’t thank her. Her heels clicked acro
