CLAY’S POV
The elevator doors slid open with a soft whoosh, and I stepped into the foyer of my penthouse.
The walk from my car to the elevator had left the wound under my feet throbbing, making me limp a bit.
“Finally,” I sighed as the dim lighting enveloped me, a warm contrast to the bright LA sunset I'd left behind.
I crossed the living room and tossed the manila file onto the marble console table.
Next, I gently placed my keys beside it and shrugged off my jacket.
The air was thick with the scent of fresh flowers, my housekeeper must've restocked the vases again.
The city's sounds faded into the background, replaced by the gentle hum of the air conditioning and the soft gill of water trickling from the wall fountain.
“Aggie?” I called, tossing my jacket at the couch.
There was
