Standing in front of the mirror, the full-length kind in the master bathroom, I was adjusting the lapels of my dark suit.
It was a typical ‘power outfit’, the kind that practically screams, I have a plan, I know what I’m doing, and I definitely know where my birth certificate is. After a night filled with dreams of cedar, rain, and the oddly high body temperature of the two men sleeping in the other wing of this place, I needed the armor.
The dogs were sprawled on the rug, watching me intently, so much so that it felt like a performance review was happening in their minds.
“Stay,” I told them, pointing at the floor. “I have to go to work. Real work. The kind with spreadsheets, deadlines, and people who think coffee counts as a personality trait.”
I sighed, grabbing my bag. “Meanwhile,
