There, on the other side of the clear kiosk, stood a man.
Her boss.
Amelia found herself looking into whiskey-colored eyes fringed with thick, inky-black lashes.
Six and a half feet of darkness stared at her with hawkish eyes and a stern, almost menacing air of confidence. He was a study in black, from the glossy waves of his hair to the broad lines of his black suit and body-hugging shirt, to his long legs.
He held himself with a confidence that made him seem like he owned the place, projecting an air of power even in his stillness. People stared at him from all corners of the room, not with scorn or disapproval but with a deference--a respectful wariness--that Amelia couldn't help feeling herself.
She was gaping, she realized and quickly glanced back into the case to avoid the he
