Kol in Baltimore 4

The bed beside me was cold.

No note, no perfume, just the faint ache of scratches across my chest and the memory pounding behind my eyes.

7:28 a.m.

I got the hell out of the Four Seasons like I’d robbed the place. Hoodie up, cab home, shower so hot it hurt, trying to wash last night off my skin. Didn’t work.

By 8:37 I looked flawless on the outside: charcoal suit, perfect knot in the tie, hair still damp. Inside I was a disaster.

I stepped into the hallway with my laptop bag.

Amara was leaning against her door in tiny shorts and an oversized tee, sipping coffee, eyes sharp.

“Morning, Kol,” she said, gaze dropping to the fresh marks peeking above my collar. “Rough night?”

I muttered something and fled down the stairs.

8:57 a.m.

Harrington Global Industries. Twenty three floors of money and glass. I walked in three minutes early, trying to act like a man who belonged.

The receptionist smiled. “Mr. Kol? Executive elevato