JORDAN JUDE
The car pulled up to my penthouse. Ava stepped out first, her black stilettos clicking against the pavement as she strutted inside like she owned the place. I followed behind, loosening my tie as the tension from the press conference lingered between us.
The silence in the elevator was suffocating. Ava leaned against the mirrored wall, examining her reflection. Her lips curved into a smug smile, as though she were admiring her handiwork. I've never seen someone so proud and self-obsessed.
I ignored her, focusing on the glowing numbers above the elevator doors as they ticked higher. When we reached the top floor, I led her into my penthouse.
"Nice place," she said, letting her eyes wander over the décor.
"Get comfortable," I replied, heading to my study.
I returned moments later with a folder in hand. "Here," I said, tossing it onto the coffee table where she sat.
