ct Jevon had assigned her team was brutal. She hadn't slept more th

er fifteen-minute lunch break, she ran down to the street and bought a spicy s

king her first massive bite of the taco, w

needs to be on Mr. Rocha's

and, keeping the half-eaten taco in her right, and sprinted

h, trying to hide the taco behind the thick manila fo

ors, his tie loosened, looking deeply i

r voice flat and professional as she starte

ce. He noticed a tiny speck of spicy sauce clinging t

ght without a single meal. His blood sugar was crashing violently. His eyes dropp

before his brai

nto his designer wastebasket. "This street food doesn't suit you," he murmured. Then, his gaze dropped to the tiny speck of spicy sauce clinging to the corner of her mouth. He reached out, his thumb

t the sheer intimacy of the gesture. The file slipped

from his lips, a wicked, triumphant gleam in his eye

later, the tr

o his throat. The sound of his breathing turned into a wet, ragged whe

topped. "Mr. Roch

his fingers clawing at his collar. "Shrimp,"

d to ice. The taco. I

e intercom button. "Alex! Help! He can't breathe!" sh

e face and immediately ripped open the medical kit on the wall. He pulled out a

e heave violently as the adrenaline rushed

y upright. "I'm so sorry, I had no idea about your allergy," she said, her voice urgent and rational despite the t

but steady. Even in his weakened state, his dark

face twisted in fury, re

bling hand. "Get ou

hen stormed out,

evon stared at Bridget's tear-stained fa

Frank," Jevon said, his

eatedly. "I am so sorry! I didn't know! I'll

h. "Do you think your salary co

s covering her face. "Wh

ut. " You will come to my penthouse tonight after w