GRAYSON STOOD behind his desk, towering, his shoulders rigid as though he were holding himself back by sheer force of will.
His tie hung loose, his dark suit jacket hanging open, and the top button of his shirt was undone. He looked disheveled in a way that only heightened his menace.
Opposite him, a man—a mid-level executive, if Mailah remembered right—sat stiffly, face pale with tension.
Grayson's voice cut through the air like a blade. "I do not tolerate failure dressed as excuses. If you cannot do your job, there are a hundred others waiting to take your place."
The man stammered, "Mr. Ashford, I—"
"Do not waste my time groveling." Grayson's eyes flashed, faintly glowing, the unmistakable mark of his demon nature simmering beneath his skin.
He looked almost feral, dangerous in a way that made Mailah's heart lurch.
When he noticed her, the change was immediate, like the snap of a trap.
