It was stupid, but Micah felt almost bereft when the man finally loosened his hold after Geoffrey parked and opened the door for him. Micah didn’t bother waiting for Geoffrey to come open his door; he just got out on his own.

The skyscraper Damon lived in was as intimidating as Micah remembered. If Micah were to hazard a guess, he’d say the impressive building had about sixty floors, and in many ways, it was similar to The Mark.

Micah allowed Damon to lead him through the glass double doors and the fancy lobby with its glossy, marble floors and iridescent chandeliers. There were bodyguards situated near the doors and a middle-aged receptionist behind the front desk, but they all merely nodded at Damon as he strode past.

They passed another pair of bodyguards near the elevator, where Damon used an electronic key card to buzz them inside. There were no floor numbers to punch in on the elevator. Instead, each tenant’s card was keyed in to a specific floor for optimal privacy and security.

Damon actually owned two cards: one for his penthouse, and one for his gym and pool on the floor below.

It was silent as they rode up to Damon’s floor, and Micah used the time to silently peruse himself in the shiny reflection of the elevator doors, attempting to contort his face into the same stonelike expression that Damon could effortlessly pull off.

It didn’t work.

Before he knew it, the elevator doors were chiming as they opened, and Damon’s pristine entryway was staring back at him.

“Damon, is that you?” a familiar voice called from further in the penthouse.

Micah looked past the entryway into the living room, and he was able to count six heads before the one with the familiar bob of brown hair shot up from the loveseat, rushing to greet them.

Joelle was dressed much less provocatively than the last time Micah had seen her. Instead of an electric purple dress with a plunging neckline, she wore a black pencil skirt and a flowy, red blouse that showcased her tanned arms. She looked no less lovely for it.

“Who else would it be?” Damon muttered, but Joelle ignored him to showcase the deceptive strength in said arms by tugging Micah into a tight embrace.

“You actually brought him!” she said, speaking to Damon before turning her full attention on Micah, whom she was all but nestling in her arms. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Micah, darling, you’re even more exquisite than I remember.”

“I should hope so,” said the Hispanic man with a well-groomed beard and flashy neon shirt who had followed Joelle into the entryway. “You were four whiskeys deep and as high as a kite the last time you saw him.”