Roman's POV :
The office felt too quiet.
I stood at my desk looking out over Manhattan, same view I'd had for seven years, trying to focus on the files in front of me and failing.
Amara hadn't been here in two days and she wasn't coming back.
My door opened without a knock.
William walked in, took one look at me, and headed straight for my liquor cabinet.
"That bad?" he asked, pouring two glasses of scotch even though it was barely ten AM.
"I'm fine."
"Right." He handed me one, kept the other, sat on the edge of my desk. "So where's Amara?"
"Not here."
"I can see that." William took a drink. "What happened?"
"She left."
"Obviously." He looked at me. "What did you do?"
"Why do you assume I did something?"
"Because I've known you since we were eighteen and you always do something."
I took a drink but didn't answer.
"Roman."
"I was late getting back to the house, seven hours late, she was mad, we fought, she left."
William stared at me. "Seven hours."
"Yeah."
