The city of Charleston SC was chilly in November, but the hotel bar at the Marriott was warm, dimly lit, and smelled like expensive whiskey and the faint musk of desire. I swirled the amber liquid in my glass, watching the ice cubes clink against the sides, my mind still half on the quarterly reports I’d just finished reviewing. The business trip had been exhausting—endless meetings, dry presentations, and the constant hum of corporate bullshit. But tonight, I was done. Tonight, I was Adrianna, not Ms. Rivers, Senior Financial Analyst.
