Eleanor
“I’m not decent enough, Judge West. Maybe come back when I’ve had something to wear.”
The words flew out of me faster than I had a chance to think about them. They were sharp and defensive like a reflex. My voice was calm but clipped, sounding a little too practiced. But underneath it, I was unraveling.
Because what in the name of all things sensible was he still doing standing there?
Normally, in a situation like this, the men would either turn around and apologize profusely, or leave.
There I was, standing in nothing but a towel and a robe, and he had the nerve; the audacity to stroll into my room and not blink? And he didn't even leave as well?
He just stood there, looking entirely unbothered, his eyes locked on mine like I was fully dressed in a full attire and not half-
