June

I exhale deeply, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. My palms are damp, knees brushing together under the desk as if I could hide the tremor in them.

Natalya rises from her seat, her heels clicking lightly against the marble floor. She walks toward me—graceful, elegant, terrifying—and places her manicured hands on my shoulders.

"I get it," she says softly. "Hermes is handsome. He’s kind. But he’s also a playboy—a full-time one."

Her tone is almost pitying, like she’s ...