The next day, Lireal marched into Asher's office, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anger. She clenched her fists at her sides, her knuckles white with tension as she glared at the man who sat in front of her. She didn't bother knocking, knowing he would be expecting her.
"Mr. Blackwell," she said, her voice low and dangerous, "we need to talk about this contract." She slammed the file down on his desk, making the papers flutter.
Asher Blackwell arched a brow at the sudden display of aggression from the woman in front of him. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze assessing as she stood there, fists clenched and jaw tight. "What seems to be the problem, Miss Scrivener?" he asked, his low voice smooth as silk.
"This contract," Lireal bit out, her voice strained, "it's filled
