The elevator doors opened to silence.
Cole Maddox’s penthouse office was bathed in gold from the city lights spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The marble floors glowed. Everything was sleek, cold, and expensive — just like him.
I stepped in slowly, my heels echoing with each step.
He hadn’t called me up here for a meeting.
Not really.
Not when the message he sent simply read:
“Upstairs. Now. Wear something that reminds me why I hired you.”
So I wore a black satin blouse with nothing underneath. Tight pencil skirt. Lace panties. Red lips.
I found him by the bar, pouring a drink. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, revealing forearms veined and powerful. His jaw was clenched. His tie hung loose around his collar like a noose he hadn’t decided to tighten yet.
