ANDREA’S POV
The elevator ride to the top of Harrington Tower usually took forty-five seconds, but today, it felt like forty-five years.
Standing next to Maxwell while clutching my sketchbook to my chest like a protective shield, the black pencil skirt and cream-colored silk blouse he had picked out from the closet felt like an entirely different persona. Being elegant and professional was completely terrifying because wearing it made me feel exactly like a fraud.
The lobby had been an absolute nightmare. As soon as the glass doors slid open and we stepped onto the polished floor, the entire building seemed to go completely silent. Watching the security guards, the receptionists, and the interns running with coffee all stop to actively stare was intensely uncomfortable. Seeing them lean
