The air in the offices of Sterling and Thorne smelled of expensive espresso and old leather. Floor-to-ceiling glass offered a panoramic view of the city, a concrete jungle where the law was the only weapon that mattered. Alaric stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against the gray sky. . He did not turn when Mira entered.
The brief is on your desk, Alaric. I corrected the citations in the third section.
Alaric turned slowly. His eyes were the color of slate, cold and calculating. He didn't look at the folder; he looked at her. Mira wore a pencil skirt that hugged her hips and a white blouse buttoned just low enough to be daring but high enough to be professional. She held his gaze without blinking.
You were ten minutes late with this, Mira.
I spent those ten minutes ensuring the o
