The morning sunlight streamed through the office windows, casting long, golden shafts across the marble floor. The city below moved with a hurried rhythm, oblivious to the storm of desire simmering in the penthouse above. I stepped into the elevator, heels clicking sharply against the polished metal, my mind already racing with thoughts of Conley. The memory of last night—every touch, every gasp, every claim—was like a fire burning beneath my skin, impossible to ignore.
The elevator doors slid open to reveal the sleek, sterile environment of MyAlly’s headquarters. Employees bustled past, all business, all smiles, unaware of the tension vibrating in the air. I adjusted my blazer, smoothing the wrinkles from my skirt, reminding myself that today, like every day, I had to be professional.
B
