The air conditioning inside the Allegra Group headquarters was set to an icy sixty-eight degrees, but the cold hit me like a splash of freezing water the second I stepped out of the executive elevator onto the executive floor.
I smoothed down the front of my cream-colored silk blouse and adjusted the fit of my dark charcoal pencil skirt. My hair was pulled back into an immaculate, low bun, and a strategic layer of concealer hid the dark circles carving under my eyes. Mara Collins was gone. St. Jude’s Hospital, the cheap apartment, and the desperate fear were locked away behind a wall of polished, cold perfection.
Standing in front of Adrian Holt’s double-paned frosted glass office doors, I was Elizabeth Monroe.
I took a quiet, steadying breath, gripped my leather folio tightly against m
