ADVERTISEMENT
through thousand-dollar shirts while trying to hold his gaze. Briana only gave him a calm, sugar-dusted smile.
“You aren’t afraid of me,” he said.
He leaned forward, knuckles on the desk.
Briana looked at him over the top of the ledger.
“Mr. Castiglione, I grew up in a trailer park in Wyoming with a father who thought the government was going to collapse continue reading …
ADVERTISEMENT