Theresa.
The SUV glided into the private, brightly lit underground parking bay of our high-rise residential building, coming to a smooth, silent stop.
The heavy engine hummed low before Leonard cut the ignition, leaving only the soft glow of the dashboard digital display and the faint jazz rhythm playing through the speakers.
I sat back against the leather seat, staring down at my phone screen. The notification band was still illuminated, displaying the name clear as day: Michael.
Michael was one of the senior logistical coordinators on the eighth floor of the Ironclad Group—a handsome, charming guy who had made no secret of his attraction toward me before my medical leave, always finding excuses to stop by my secretary desk in the foyer with fresh pastries or off-topic conversation. Seeing his name pop up on my screen right after such a perfect day back at work left a strange, lingering knot in my stomach.
