Andrea had rehearsed the words all night.
"This has to stop. Whatever this is, I don't know but it needs to end now. "
She repeated them like a mantra while she showered, while she dried her hair, while she slipped into the dress she’d chosen for armor. The black fitted dress she had chosen that morning clung to her in a way that was still perfectly professional but impossible to ignore.
The fabric hugged the curve of her hips, skimmed the swell of her breasts, and ended just above her knees; elegant enough for the executive floor, but the cut and the way it moved when she walked made it something more. She paired it with simple heels and told herself she wasn’t dressing for him.
But that was a lie.
At the office, she made Henry’s coffee just the way he liked it–black with one sugar,
