*****
Aria fled back to the bedroom, her heart racing. What the hell was he doing? Why was he involving her in his clothing choices? Why did every interaction with him feel charged with something she couldn't name?
She finished making the bed with mechanical precision, then moved to dust the furniture. She was cleaning his nightstand when she noticed it a book, face-down, as if he'd been reading before falling asleep.
The Count of Monte Cristo. Her favorite.
Before she could process what that coincidence meant, Damien emerged from the closet fully dressed. The charcoal suit fit him perfectly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and lean build. With the gray tie and his damp hair swept back, he looked every inch the powerful CEO.
Devastating.
"Better," he said, more to himself than to her, adjusting his cuffs. "You have good instincts, Ms. Mitchell."
"Thank you, sir."
