Jamal walked into the house, his footsteps measured, his expression unreadable. As he walked into the living room his eyes went straight to Abigail.
She stood in the middle of the room, flipping through a row of corporate clothes displayed on a metal rack. Soft pastels, bold charcoals, crisp whites—elegant and carefully selected, like they belonged to a woman who had to be taken seriously.
Ryan stood beside her, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other held a half-full glass of whiskey.
He looked at Abigail, speaking in a low, measured tone. She listened, nodding occasionally, her fingers trailing over the fabric of a navy-blue blazer. But the moment her gaze lifted and she spotted Jamal, her heart fluttered.
She averted her eyes, not wanting Ryan to read any meaning into that.
Jamal took the cue and shifted his gaze from her, keeping his focus on Ryan.
