The elevator climbed the forty-two floors of the glass building slowly. I watched the numbers tick upward, red digits changing and reflecting in my black sheath dress, my hair twisted tight, the same grey cashmere scarf the Brit had texted about knotted at my throat.
I hadn’t texted him back to thank him for having it delivered to me, I couldn’t. Not with Julian’s cedar scent still clinging to my sense from last night at the attic, from the way his thumb had pressed my pulse until I felt it in my teeth.
Julian stood beside me, one hand in the pocket of his suit, the other curled around a paper cup of coffee. No lid. Steam curled between us like a question neither of us would ask.
The doors slid open onto the law firm’s reception. Mahogany and brass, everything in the space screamed of
