Zayne’s POV
I finished changing into my own dinner attire with remarkable speed. I did not require forty-five minutes. Ten minutes was sufficient to select the dark charcoal suit, the pristine white shirt, and the perfectly aligned silk tie.
I stood before the full-length mirror, adjusting the cuffs of my jacket, and I recognized the deception I presented. The image staring back was one of controlled power, of a man utterly focused on the serious business of finance. I looked like an executive, capable of dismantling rival companies with a single word. I looked like a man who was not currently consumed by the sight of a woman wrapped in a hotel towel.
I was done before Sky. I knew this was true because I heard no further movement from her room. The silence emanating from the closed doo
