el. Foster Deron stood beside Eleanor, his presence as unobtrusive and a

spoken power. The only sound was the click of Eleanor's new, sensible heels on the Italian marble. Heads bowed over ke

mahogany doors. A simple brass pl

ce,"Deron stated, his voice fl

O's door. There were no cubicle walls, no privacy screens. It was an island of exposure, designed

tablet."First rule: anticipate Mr. Vanderbilt's needs. Second r

cool metal was a dead weigh

figure in a violently pink Chanel suit, walking with the arrogant stride of someone who h

rigid. A jolt, like

Vand

hell. And, as rumor had it, a distant cousin of Sebastian's who was

on Eleanor. First, a flicker of confusion. Then, recognit

her perfect lips."Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. Eleanor Bal

digging into her palms. She forced a placid, professional

b. Amber's face tightened. She hated being reminded s

here,"Amber hissed, her

st-a gesture so controlled it looked rehearsed-and"stumbled."The hot,

oed in the quiet office

most imperceptible shift of her core, a twist of her hips, and the scalding coffee missed her, splashing o

ven glance a

re calm, efficient. With her other hand, she pressed the intercom button on her desk phone."This is the CEO's office assistant. W

scene. Instead, she got... this. A few of the watching employees straightened in their cha

cern. She met Amber's stunned gaze."Ms. Vanderb

althy circle ringleader-the one who had orchestrated Eleanor's humiliation

over spilled coffee. She was here for the terminal access at the CEO's assistant desk

a slap, deliver

any doors to the CEO

es took in the scene in a single, sweeping glance: the dark stain on the rug, Amber's furious, th

terrifying speed, bustled pas

ply looked at Eleanor and lift

offic

to play. Amber's glare burned at the nape of her neck, but Eleanor didn't give her the satisfact