I was leaning back on the velvet sofa, my iPad resting on my lap as I lazily scrolled through the morning's stock fluctuations. My dark red halter top felt like a second skin, and my white flared pants pooled around my white Louboutin heels. I looked every bit the Madame CEO the tabloids called me—sharp, pristine, and dangerous.
A light knock at the double doors broke my concentration.
"Enter," I said.
My head of security stepped in, clearing his throat. "Mrs. D'Angelo, there is—"
"Miss," I corrected, not shifting my gaze from the screen. "And if you use that prefix again, you can collect your severance by noon. What is it?"
"Miss... Kendella Delacroix is in the foyer. She says it's a matter of life and death."
I paused my scrolling for exactly one second. "Life and death? How dramatic. Send her in."
