ROOSEVELT’S POV
The weekend was torture.
I didn't sleep, I sat on my sofa in the dark, staring at my phone. I kept picturing Zyran in Paris. I imagined him walking down the streets, holding another woman’s hand.
By Monday morning, my chest ached.
I walked into the office. I felt sick, but I held my head high.
"Good morning, Ms. Evans," Bianca said with a bright smile from her desk. "Did you have a good weekend?"
"It was very quiet, Bianca," I replied softly. "Is Mr. King in?"
"Yes, ma'am," Bianca nodded. "He flew back from Paris very early this morning. He is in his office."
I took a deep breath, grabbed the Thompson file from my desk, and walked across the hall. The door was open.
Zyran sat at his desk, he looked completely relaxed.
"Excuse me, Mr. King," I said as I stepped in
