The smell of tobacco hit her the moment she stepped into the corridor. Sloane coughed violently, eyes watering, and instinctively stepped back.
Damon didn’t move. He stood there, coat flaring slightly in the wind from the open window, golden eyes fixed on her with a sharp, accusing edge.
“That’s Mr. Brown,” Damon said, his tone low and tense. “And no, you might want to curb your… competitive instincts for once. If you want to win fame, promotions, and Brown’s favor, you’d better not take shortcuts.”
Sloane’s eyes narrowed, unflinching.
“There are experts inside,” Damon continued, his voice rising slightly with frustration. “Offend any of them, and it won’t be your family cleaning up the mess, it’ll be me. Or perhaps you’d like to just quit and run back to your perfect Blackth
