At the mention of my mother’s assistant, the muscles in my shoulders tense. It’s an automatic response. Chloe Anderson tests my limits with every encounter. She’s been my mother’s assistant for two years, and though I rarely see her, my mind easily conjures her image. Her fiery red hair always pulled up into a knot on her head, allowing access to her slender neck. Those crystal blue eyes, which I find on most occasions pinning me with a disapproving glare, are other worldly. For every inch her petite frame is lacking, she makes up for it in snark and bite. She’s a pint-sized human carrying out
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