MAXWELL’S POV
My right hand felt like it was encased in concrete and set on fire.
Sitting at the massive mahogany desk in my office on the forty-fifth floor of Harrington Tower, staring blankly at the quarterly projection report for the Tokyo merger proved useless as the numbers swam wildly on the page. Having stared at the same paragraph for twenty minutes, telling you if the projected yield was twelve percent or twelve thousand percent was entirely impossible, yet reaching for my coffee mug with my right hand still happened out of pure habit.
A sharp and electric jolt of pain shot up my arm, originating directly from my knuckles to slam forcefully into my shoulder.
"Dammit," I hissed through my teeth, recoiling rapidly.
Looking down at the bulky white bandage Andrea had wrapped arou
