from her own as she realized her best friend was about to dan
ose, until Emilee let out a shaky breath that fel
but the words landed weakly aga
hrough the loft's industrial windows and striping the hard
a mug of steaming black coffee, her laptop scree
r focus, though the faint quiver in her finge
nter, her messy bun unraveling, dark crescents bene
irm's restricted databases, and exhaustion
ed, voice frayed. "But Adam Kensi
ofiles, no social media, only a handful of grainy press photo
r nail against the trackpad hard enough to leave a
ng in, her voice dropping to a conspira
hispering. Severe mysophobia-refuses to be touched by women. Fires assistants for accidental brushes. And..." She swi
d, sipping her coffee, the bitte
grip on her waist, his thumb pressing into her
memory, a tiny crack in the
al. Or worse-impotent. The trading floor jok
"This isn't a game, Ally. He destroys people fo
ips. "Exactly. An impotent, touch-averse billionaire is the perfect sham husband. No messy expectations, no s
the counter. "Kip Downs-his right-hand man. They're having coffee at a members-only ca
snapping her laptop
e-grey Dior pantsuit, tailored to perfection, hair pulled
whistled, equal parts
he unmarked cafe, its brass door
and they slid into a back booth, hidden behind tall
cologne and freshly roasted
nds folded neatly on the table as she rehearsed her pi
her phone, he
he whispered. "A
reath, her heart racing
ring the final contract terms to Em
he partition-and she also didn't hear that familiar, dee
riage? In
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