When I turn to make a break for the elevator, I run face first into an Armani suit and a cloud of absolutely divine cologne. Large, warm hands hold me steady by my upper arms when I lose my footing and nearly fall over. I gasp. “I’m sorry!” I crane my neck to look up at the man holding me. My lungs seize up. I feel as though I’ve just been punched in the stomach. Christian Reeves is standing before me in a well-tailored gray suit and a black turtleneck. The Christian Reeves, as in, the man who owns Meridian City and whose name is plastered on the side of the building I’m standing in. The
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