You knock once.

“Entra, amore mio...” comes her voice, a husky purr through the door, as though she'd been waiting for hours. You step in.

Her office is drenched in amber light, the blinds only half-drawn. Books, candles, velvet-bound journals, and her perfume—rose and cinnamon—linger in the air. She’s perched lazily on the edge of her mahogany desk, legs crossed, glasses slipping low on her nose, and the top three buttons of her ivory blouse undone… again.

“Late.” She smiles, setting down a half-full wine glass. “You know I don’t like to wait when I’m… excited.”