The Billionaire's Regret
Daniella said from behind her outer desk, tablet in hand, her hair pinned back in a neat low tie like her life had never once been touched by a poisonous, handsome Italian man.
“Lie,” I said, slipping off my sunglasses. “There’s nothing good about this morning.”
She nodded like that was information she could enter directly into the system. “Luc sent over the revised timeline. Procurement from Nice wants the final veneer selection by noon. And the boutique client in Cannes is asking if we can make it ‘softer, more feminine, more like quiet luxury.’”
I stopped in my doorway and turned my head slowly. “If one more person says quiet luxury to me this week, I’m going to start designing retail spa