Love, Lies, and Spies
She could've easily passed for someone in her mid-thirties.
She wore a short skirt, black stockings, and sleek heels. A crisp white blouse completed the look.
Short hair, sharp features, brows slightly furrowed—you could tell with a glance she was not someone to mess with.
"Mrs. Booth, you asked for me."
"Come take a look at this."
She turned the screen toward me, but what I saw wasn't a spreadsheet—it was a contract.
"Brady, is it? Why don't you tell me what this is all about?" she asked, a mocking smile curling at her lips, as though she already knew the answer but wanted to hear me squirm.