Olivia looked stunning that morning, flawless in a peach blouse, her hair perfectly swept to the side, and her eyes bright, accompanied by a smile. She sat gracefully behind her desk, legs crossed, back straight, the very image of composure and elegance. But beneath it, her nerves stirred with anticipation.
Philip had called earlier, asking to meet. Said it was something "important." Typical. Everything with him was either cloaked in mystery or served a purpose that benefited him alone.
She had spent most of the night thinking about Philip's offer. What if she helped him, played the part of the forgiving ex-wife, only to bring him down later when he'd built himself back up? What if she gave him just enough rope to hang himself?
The idea had begun to feel intoxicating.
