Jason Asher's penthouse felt like it was shrinking in around him, the glass walls looked cold and suffocating while the city lights twinkled mockingly through the floor-to-ceiling windows like distant stars indifferent to the chaos unfolding below. Jason stood rigid, his hazel eyes narrowed into slits of fury as he faced Sarai Monroe, who had invaded his sanctuary like a tempest in red silk. Her Versace dress clung to her curves, the gold jewelry glinting under the soft glow of the chandelier, but Jason saw only an unwelcome intruder. His blonde hair was tousled from running frustrated hands through it, and his gym-toned frame tensed as if ready for battle.
"Spit it out, Sarai," Jason snarled, his voice low and edged with impatience. "Whatever you've got to say, say it and get the hell out of my house. I don't have time for your games."
