The morning had started with spreadsheets, contracts, and Adrian Voss pretending he was not staring at me every six minutes.
I sat across from him at the long conference table in his office, one leg crossed over the other, laptop open, several printed proposals spread between us in neat stacks.
Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, catching on the sharp lines of his face and making him look unfairly expensive.
Everything about Adrian looked expensive.
His suits.
His watch.
His silence.
Even the way he held a pen somehow looked like it belonged in a luxury advertisement.
Unfortunately, none of that was my problem.
My problem was the three partnership offers sitting between us from companies desperate to gain access to Voss Industries.
Which meant my job
