It was Monday. Again. Penelope decided she completely hated weekend endings. Before she hated only Mondays. But now, she hated Sunday evenings.
Not because she disliked work, entirely.
But because work now came attached to a six-foot-something emotional wreck with amber eyes and a voice capable of dismantling her nervous system.
Demetria had laughed for seven minutes after hearing that description.
“You’re doomed, Penny,” she had said, laughing over breakfast.
Penelope out of frustration, had thrown bread at her.
Now, standing inside Calvin Dawson’s office on the forty-second floor of Dawnat, she deeply wished she could throw something else.
Preferably herself out the window. Not to die. Just to escape.
The office was quiet this morning. Because she came early. And Calvin hadn't ar
