Sebastian’s POV
The glass of Macallan sits untouched on my desk, the amber liquid catching the low light of the lamp like liquid fire. My office is quiet now, the building mostly empty, just the hum of the city far below and the occasional ping of an email I ignore. Sienna Rowe’s voice still lingers in my head, her words from earlier this evening replaying on a loop I can’t shut off. She’d knocked with that confident rap, sauntered in like she owned the place, her red dress clinging to every curve, lips painted to match. “Sebastian,” she’d purred, leaning over my desk just enough to give a view I didn’t ask for. “We need to talk about that junior strategist position.”
I raised a brow, leaning back in my chair, letting the silence stretch until she filled it. She always does. “I know I di
