IMOGEN'S POV
The knock on my apartment door came at exactly three o'clock, just like Amala had promised. I'd been sitting on my couch for the past hour, staring at the wall and rehearsing what I was about to do. My coffee had gone cold again. The third cup today that I'd forgotten to drink.
"Coming," I called, dragging myself to the door.
Amala stood in the hallway with her briefcase and that sharp look she got when she was ready for battle. She took one look at my face and her expression shifted into something softer.
"You look terrible."
"Thanks. That's exactly what every woman wants to hear."
She followed me into the living room, setting her briefcase on the coffee table with the same precision she brought to everything else. Her suit was perfectly pressed, her hair swept back in that severe bun that made judges take her seriously. Everything about her screamed competence and control.
I wished I felt half as put together as she looked.
