[Evening Street—Near Veritas PR, 6:22 PM]
The sky was dressed in shades of deep rose and lazy orange, the kind of twilight that made everything feel a little softer—except for Elle Carter, who was currently freezing in her heels while waiting for a cab that clearly had no respect for time or tired women.
She crossed her arms tighter, phone in hand, jaw clenched. "Twelve minutes," she muttered. "It said twelve minutes eight minutes ago."
Just then, a sleek black car rolled to a stop in front of her, the engine humming like a purring panther. The tinted window slid down with cinematic timing.
"Hey there…" came a familiar, low voice, warm and teasing, "my little rabbit."
Elle blinked.
Damien Wolfe—CEO, dangerously charming human, and the current cause of her heart palpitations—leaned against the wheel like he belonged in a commercial for expensive cologne and bad decisions.
