He arrived to fix her script. She didn't ask him to fix anything else.
There's a particular kind of cold that has nothing to do with the mountain outside the window. Julian doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't need to. He watches. He calculates. He holds himself the way a man holds a hand of cards he intends to win with, close, careful, giving nothing away.
Maya isn't the type to be studied. She's spent her career being underestimated by men exactly like him, and she's not about to hand him the satisfaction of getting under her skin. Except he …
