Maya's face flooded with heat. She was a grown adult woman. She had navigated drunk clientele, aggressive bouncers, and three a.m. subway rides alone. She had once talked her way out of a parking ticket using nothing but confidence and the strategic deployment of eye contact.
And she had just told a billionaire that he was really tall like it was a revelation.
"I meant..." She stopped. Regrouped. Tried again. "Good morning. The estate is beautiful. I was just....we were just...Lora was showing me around."
"I hope you're finding everything comfortable," Damian said, and his voice was doing that thing again....that resonance that seemed to bypass her ears and go directly to some primitive part of her brain that was apparently very impressed by deep authoritative voices.
"Very comfortable," Maya managed. "The towel rack is heated."
Why was she talking about the towel rack? Why was that the thing her mouth had decided to say?
