Chapter 28 Trading Floor

• "If you drop that clutch, Megan, the whole floor will know you’re holding evidence instead of a lip balm," Casian said, his voice a low, rough murmur against the back of her neck.
• They stood inside the private service elevator, ascending rapidly to the forty-fifth floor of Morello Tower. The metal box smelled of industrial floor wax, cold oil, and the sharp, heavy heat coming off Casian’s broad shoulders.
• Megan didn't loosen her grip on the black leather envelope. Her thumb pressed into the silver clasp, her knuckles pale under the harsh fluorescent tube overhead. "I don't drop things, Casian. Especially not papers that cost us three million dollars in hush money to pull out of Zurich."