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