The envelope had been sitting on my nightstand for two days like something radioactive.
I'd read the first few pages the night he gave it to me. Stipend. Security clearance. Health coverage. Boundaries. All the clean, clinical language of a man who solved problems by putting them in writing.
I hadn't finished it.
Some part of me knew that if I got to the end, something in it would change the shape of my life again, and I'd had enough of that lately. The fire had already done that. The penthouse had already done that. I didn't need a stapled packet of legalese to finish the job.
But it was morning now, sun cutting thin gold lines across the guest room floor, and Damian had left for the office an hour ago, and Rosa wasn't due until noon, and there was nothing left to distract me from it.
