The breeze outside was warm, soft against Sasha’s skin as she stepped out of the building. The evening sky was dimming, painted with strokes of orange and gray. She clutched her small purse tightly, her eyes scanning the street for a cab.
She wasn’t wearing her office clothes anymore.
The dress she wore now was tight, black, and short — hugging every curve, her long legs exposed beneath it. Her hair fell in waves down her back. A dab of red lipstick marked her mouth.
She wasn’t dressed for work.
She was dressed for someone.
And Xavier Blackwood saw her the moment she stepped out.
He’d been waiting in his car — sleek, black, tinted. Parked across the street.
He hadn’t planned this.
But when he’d seen her earlier, rushing past the reception in a different outfit, something twisted in
