Olivia's POV
The next morning, I reported to work looking like I'd been hit by a truck, dragged through a swamp, and then left to dry in the sun. Dark circles under my eyes told the story of a sleepless night spent tossing and turning, replaying that terrifying encounter in the alley over and over again.
*What the hell did I do?*
I kept asking myself that question all night. I'd spent hours staring at the ceiling, wondering if I'd just sent a serial killer after my boss. What if he kills Maxwell? What if he tosses him in the Hudson River? What if I wake up tomorrow to find Wellington & Sons splashed across the morning news as a crime scene?
*Oh God, Olivia, how could you think of such a thing? You're pure evil.*
