Elliot Sheridan had always been self-disciplined, never paying any mind to the women who threw themselves at him.
Joanne Donovan believed he was saving himself for her—until another woman appeared.
She took a long drag from her cigarette, the fine white smoke swirling before her eyes. If she had a way to get rid of that woman, then she had a way to get rid of this Amanda Thorne, too.
She suddenly found herself captivated by the cigarette's scent. She took a deep sniff; it was exactly the same as Elliot Sheridan's.
This man, Elliot Sheridan—she was determined to have him.
Tossing the cigarette butt aside, her slender hand picked up her phone and dialed a number.
Back in the private room, a man arrived midway through.
He wore a black pinstripe suit, the white shirt underneath unbuttoned at the top, giving him a look that was both wicked and handsome.
Unlike Elliot Sheridan's rugged handsomeness, the man before her exuded a kind of androgynous beauty.
A very beautiful man.
