Sinfully Yours Step Daddy
Floor 18, 10:00 a.m. sharp.
The elevator doors slid open onto a quieter floor: frosted glass partitions, soft lighting, the low hum of focused people who looked like they ate spreadsheets for breakfast.
A woman in her early thirties was already waiting by the reception island: tall, East-Asian, black hair in a sleek bob, wearing a forest-green sheath dress and an expression that said she had zero time for bullshit.
“You’re Kol,” she said, not a question. She stuck out her hand. Grip like iron. “Danielle Park. I run Forensic Accounting and Special Investigations. Come on.”
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