DAMIEN
Zinna stormed into my office like she owned the place—which, to be fair, she kind of did. She didn’t even knock. Typical. I already knew where this was going.
“What do you want, Zinna?” I asked, leaning back in my chair, pretending to be calm even though I could already feel a headache forming.
She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing in that bossy, older-sister-who-thinks-she’s-the-boss way. She kept forgetting the fact that I was older than her—by six years, actually. “Don’t play dumb, Damien. You know exactly why I’m here.”
I sighed and rubbed a hand over my face. “You say that like I’ve been dodging you.”
Her brows shot up. “Because you have,” she said flatly. Then her tone softened, just slightly. “Please don’t make me spell it out. I don’t want her heart broken.”
