I was late.

Three minutes late, to be exact, but late was late, and I knew it.

My phone screen glared 8:03 AM as I stood in front of the tall glass building with Romano Group etched across the top. The building loomed over me, all steel and glass and money, and I felt my stomach twist into a knot that had nothing to do with the coffee I'd skipped this morning.

This was Xander Romano's fault. Xander Rom-anus, as I'd mentally dubbed him last night around 2 AM when sleep refused to come and my ...