The car pulled away from the curb, leaving Damian on the sidewalk. I didn't look back.
By the time I got to the penthouse, there was a woman waiting in the living room. She was tall, sharp, and dressed in all black. A measuring tape hung around her neck like a weapon.
"Miss Grace," she said, not smiling. "I'm Renée. Mr. Cross sent me. We have a lot of work to do."
I stopped in the doorway. "What kind of work?"
"Your wardrobe. Your hair. Your posture. Everything." She looked me up and down with clinical detachment. "You're about to enter his world, and you need to look like you belong there."
I crossed my arms. Was this why he wanted me home?
"You don't have to ask. He's already decided." She motioned to the couch. "Sit. We start now."
I didn't sit. I called Damian.
He answered on
