I had woken up at 2:00 AM to the sound of the front door, catching a glimpse of Adrian in the kitchen, illuminated by the refrigerator light as he ate leftover pasta in his shirt sleeves. We hadn't spoken.
We'd had breakfast in a silence so thick you could have choked on it. I was fuming, mostly because he had left me alone with three bags of gummy bears and a head full of forehead kiss confusion.
Now, I was standing in his massive top-floor office, and he was currently tearing my hotel rebranding proposal to shreds.
For the last….give or take, thirty minutes.
"The color palette is too soft, Alexandra. This is a luxury estate in the Swiss Alps, not a nursery," he snapped, tapping a gold pen against his mahogany desk.
I pouted, crossing my arms. "It's 'minimalist chic,' Adrian. Not everyone wants to live in a room that looks like a cold marble tomb, much like your heart."
"We are at work. Focus," he growled. "Come closer. Look at the margins on page four."
