Eleanor had lingered long after the last elevator hummed downward, her office a reluctant sanctuary from the penthouse's suffocating air.
Julian's manipulations had turned the penthouse into a cage. She couldn't face another dinner laced with bitterness, literal or figurative.
So here she was, past midnight, spreadsheets on Phoenix regulations blurring under the desk lamp's harsh light.
The Seine whispered beyond the windows, the city a glittering distraction she couldn't afford.
Her phone buzzed with Julian's texts about the drugs being taken on time.
She silenced it, shoving it into a drawer. Work was her armor, the one place where she controlled the narrative. Or so she told herself.
The ache between her thighs, unbidden memories of Calder's thick c**k splitting her open, mocke
