- SIERRA The click of the front door unlocking at seven PM usually meant I needed to brace myself for a lecture or a cold shoulder. I was sitting on the edge of the mattress, my phone clutched in my hand, waiting for Michael to text me the drop-off location. Instead, Desmond walked into the bedroom, and he looked... different. The stone-cold bastard who had slammed his fist on the kitchen island this morning was gone. His tie was loosened, his top button was undone, and when he saw me, his shoulders actually dropped. The hard line of his mouth softened, making him look almost vulnerable. "Sierra," he said, stopping at the foot of the bed. He didn't crowd me. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, looking at me like he was trying to figure out how to approach a stray dog. "You're dressed." "I'm always dressed, Desmond," I said, my voice flat as I tossed my phone onto the duvet. "What do you want? If this is about the office logs or spying on my flower shop, save your breath. I
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