My father never wasted words.

So when he called Damon into his office that morning, I knew something was wrong.

I wasn’t supposed to be there. But I lingered outside the door, ear pressed against the polished wood, heart thundering in my chest.

“I don’t like what I saw at the gala,” my father’s voice was sharp, cold, the same tone he used on employees who didn’t last long afterward. “You touched my daughter. In front of everyone.”

My blood ...