I was still sweating from Pilates when the message came through.
I didn’t bother reading it, I let the voice read it for me.
Be ready by three. Change of plans. Don’t ask questions.
I almost laughed. Carter never asked, he commanded, as if the world bent around his clock.
By the time I walked down the penthouse stairs that afternoon, a suitcase was already waiting by the door. Black leather, minimal, expensive. Mine. Or his version of mine.
“I don’t pack light,” I said dryly, dragging my fingers along the handle like it might shock me.
“I asked Sophie,” Ryan replied without looking up from his phone. “She knows what you’ll need.”
Of course he had.
I smirked, lifting a brow. “You trust Sophie more than me.”
His mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile, something sharper, cut from glass.
