“Miss Vivienne.”
I pull the hem of the turtleneck higher on pure instinct and raise my eyes to meet whoever’s at my door.
Cool green eyes meet mine and his name comes back immediately. Oliver.
My last-minute personal assistant, who is smiling so wide and radiantly I can definitely see his face on the cover of a magazine.
He has that face.
“Is something in my hair?”
He’s also young. Really young and that naivety that comes with youth still radiates off him. I avert my eyes.
“No, nothing’s in your hair. You can come in.”
He nods, walks in, and closes the door behind him. His shirt seems to be a few sizes smaller today, or he’s grown a few sizes bigger. It’s nothing major, it’s just that I can see more than I saw the last time.
“The meeting went well.”
I nod and try not to let him see how nervous I am. Roman has a meeting, or at least had a meeting about thirty minutes ago, and before he left he took some time to give me a number of bright red marks on the skin of my neck.
The
