"Hello."
Liam walked to the mahogany booth and extended a hand to Liza Ye, who stood tall and slender as he approached.
He had only met her once, briefly, under the flickering streetlights near Columbus Circle after she’d crunched his rear bumper. In the darkness and the stress of the accident, he hadn't truly seen her. This was their first real meeting.
She wore a soft, flowing white silk blouse—elegant and understated—paired with dark indigo skinny jeans that accentuated her long legs. At five-foot-eight, her high heels made her appear even more statuesque, rivaling Liam’s own height. A few light freckles graced her cheeks, and her chestnut hair had been styled into loose, professional waves.
According to the mental rating system Liam had developed lately, she was an 88—stunning by a
