Bound to the Billionaire
She sat on the lobby couch like a queen on a throne, pearls around her neck, gray hair styled into an elegant twist, her cane resting beside her like a silent threat.
The receptionist at the front desk pretended to type, clearly eavesdropping.
Camilla stopped a few steps away. “Good morning, Mrs. Harrington.”
Eleanor looked up slowly, eyes sharp, assessing. “You kept me waiting.”
Camilla swallowed. “My apologies. I was finalizing a report for Adrian.”
“Ah,” Eleanor said, voice smooth and cold, “working hard for my grandson. How ambitious.”
Camilla clasped her hands in front of her. “It’s my job, ma’am.”