2 septembre 2026

The Wrong Table, the Right Man

Assessment.

Clothes. Hands. Posture.

They had already decided what Marcus was worth.

Marcus almost smiled.

He’d seen that look before.

Years ago.

Different rooms. Different men.

Same mistake.

“She’s already standing up,” Marcus said, nodding toward the woman, who had risen from her chair and gathered her coat.

“I said I’d move,” she repeated, firmer now.

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