The glass-walled waiting area outside the Atlanta Development Authority’s executive suite offered a panoramic view of the downtown skyline. It was eight-forty-five on a sharp Monday morning, and the high-stakes public hearing regarding Julian Vance’s historic preservation petition was scheduled for nine.
Maya sat at a small glass table, reviewing a fresh set of comparative thermal models on her tablet. She wore a tailored plum suit that sharply complemented her caramel-gold skin, her dark hair gathered into a low, elegant twist. Her deep brown eyes were calm, focused, and steady, bearing no trace of panic.
Beside her, Mario stood leaning against the table, his broad six-foot-two frame commanding in a dark charcoal suit. He reached down, his large, warm hand covering hers on the glass sur
