n wore professional armor-a sharp blazer over her blouse-but her face was pale, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion and a grief

breath and lef

jerky stop-and-go of the traffic made a wave of nausea roll through her. Morning sickness. T

ed her head back, her eyes tracing the impossible height of the Harris Corporation tower. It was a monument of glass a

under recessed lighting, and the air was hushed, filled with the q

ion desk, her own worn leather portfol

ite, impenetrable smile l

iot Harris. My name

e didn't waver. "I'm sorry, Ms. Manning, I don't see an app

er she expected

ra said, her voi

fa in the waiting area, sitting on the edge of

ot in her stomach. She sipped from a bottle of water, the simple act t

ight here on the marble floor, the elevator doors slid

a woman who owned every room she entered. Her Chanel tweed suit was impeccable, her blonde

asked, her pale blue eyes sweeping over

Eliot," Amara said,

ll day." She paused, then added, as if sharing a confidence, "We just finalized the date f

lammed into Amara's chest, st

ust makes sense, you know. I am Stella's siste

ill, to show nothing. "Congratula

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a fitting." She turned and walke

llow ache. She had known, somewhere deep down, that th

ut the receptionist was already speaking into her headset, her expres

u to leave. If you do not have an appoint

onist, then to the closed elevator doors b

h step an agony of pride and defeat. The glass doors slid shut

e windows up, and finally let the tears come. They were hot, silent, and utterly hopeless. She pressed her forehead to the steering wheel, he

d and left only a hollow, aching emptiness. Then she wiped

what she was g