Chapter 4

The elevator doors slid shut, sealing me in with the sharp scent of perfume and the low hum of whispered laughter. I stood pressed against the mirrored wall, eyes fixed on the digital numbers as they ticked down, trying to will myself invisible. Mark Conroy was there, leaning in just close enough for his voice to curl between my ribs.

"You know, Erica," he drawled, tone soft but knife-edged, "if my wife let a mistress waltz in and take over, I’d bury myself in work too. Or maybe just…disappear. It’d be less embarrassing."

A couple of secretaries stifled giggles behind…