and his wife 1
The warmth trickled down before I even realized it.
At first, I thought it was sweat—that damned tension-induced, underboob sweat I got during Mr. Grant’s high-stakes meetings. But when I shifted in my seat, I felt the unmistakable wetness soaking through the thin lace of my bra.
Not again.
Panic gripped my spine. I folded my arms tightly, pressing them against my chest as subtly as I could, hoping—praying—no one noticed. Mr. Grant was still talking. His deep voice echoed through the sleek glass conference room, commanding as always, with Vivian seated beside him in her signature silk blouse and perfectly styled hair, legs crossed elegantly, eyes sharp and unreadable.
I kept my head down and scribbled notes I would never need.
I hadn’t planned on coming back to work th
