_Zarelle’s POV_
Jamson commanded a corner office on the top level of the Feymere office building.
The place looked more like a showroom out of an IKEA catalogue than a place where actual work got done.
*Too clean, no real work happens here.*
The huge oak wood desk was spotless and free of paperwork.
Jameson ordered his long-legged secretary to serve coffee.
His wrinkle-free face was slightly bloated, clearly the result of a recent Botox injection.
When he wasn’t smiling, he looked like a wax figure. When he did smile, he looked like an old woman trying too hard to appear young.
*He reeks of desperation,* Mirelle snorted with distaste. *And fear.*
I sipped my coffee and waited for him to come to the point.
Finally, he concluded the pleasantries and stopped be
