Eleanor:
If I were smart, I’d have gone back to work.
Buried myself in contracts and numbers—things that made sense, things that didn’t talk back, or hack into my accounts for fun.
Instead, I’ve been staring at my computer screen for twenty minutes, rereading the same sentence.
All I can think about is Reign Sinclair, and is stupid, sexy, smug face.
It’s ridiculous, really. I’ve met plenty of men like him—men with money and too much charm, the kind who think charisma is currency. Usually, I can spot the frauds before they finish their first line. But Reign isn’t exactly a fraud, is he?
He’s something else.
Something worse.
In less than twenty-four hours, he’d infiltrated my company, my bank accounts, and apparently my shopping cart. Most people can’t even get through the Windsor Bu
