I prop my feet on the table’s ledge and angle my laptop closer to my face. Scanning the spreadsheet, my eyes ache. I need to take out my contacts, but I don’t want Palmer to see me in my glasses. “I thought you said you needed to de-stress?” I glance up to see Palmer resting a shoulder against the jamb of the bedroom door. He’s gotten dressed, his suit jacket hanging over his arm. He bears no sign of the sex we just had, other than his undone collar and slightly swollen lips. They’re curved in a smirk. I grin. “Mission accomplished.” He strides across the room, all commodities-trader
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