The heavy oak door swung open with a violent thud against the wall plaster.

Preston stood in the doorway, his chest heaving under his tuxedo jacket.

His bow tie was undone, hanging loosely around his collar like a frayed rope.

His face was mottled with red splotches, and his eyes were wild as they locked onto me.

“Get out, Mia,” Preston barked, his voice hoarse.

Mia shrank back against the sofa cushions, her hand gripping my forearm.

“She is staying right here,” I said, my voice cold and flat.

Preston stepped into the room and slammed the door behind him.

The glass panes in the office cabinets rattled.

“You think you’re clever, Claire?” he sneered, marching toward the desk.

He pointed a trembling finger at me.

“You just embarrassed me in front of the entire board of directors,” he said. “You embarrassed the Mayor. You embarrassed our clients.”

“You did that to yourself, Preston,” I said, remaining seated. “Eighteen months of sleeping with your assistant tends to do that.”

“Samantha is the vice president of marketing,” he spat.

“Not anymore,” I said, tapping the manila folder on my lap.