The air inside Mike Richard’s penthouse was thick with tension.
Cynthia sat by the tall glass window, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. The silence between her and Mike had grown heavier with every second that passed since they returned from the business dinner.
He hadn’t said a word since they stepped in. Not even when he poured himself two glasses of whiskey—one for himself, one left untouched on the table beside her.
Cynthia didn’t dare speak.
She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but she knew that something had shifted since the dinner. Mike’s mood had darkened considerably. His jaw clenched tighter than usual, and his eyes… those burning hazel eyes that usually held a flicker of lustful teasing, were now cold and unreadable.
“I don’t like the way Collins looks at you
