Lawson Holdings — Gregory Lawson’s Office.
The elevator doors slid open with silent ding, revealing Lillian Stewart in all her calculated glory.
Her navy- blue dress clung to her like a second skin, the slit riding high enough to draw the eye but modest enough to feign innocence. Like it was unplanned. Her ice-blonde hair cascaded over one shoulder, and her lips—painted a deep, dangerous red—curved into a smile as she stepped onto the plush carpet of Gregory Lawson’s private office floor.
The receptionist’s eyes widened. “Miss Stewart?”
“I have an appointment,” Lillian lied smoothly, adjusting the strap of her purse.
The lady hesitated, then she said slowly, “Mr Lawson didn’t mention—”
“Oh, it is a personal matter.” Lillian’s voice dripped with sweetness. “He will want to see me.”
B
