The heavy door slammed shut behind her with a sharp, deafening thud.
The sound echoed violently along the length of the sixth-floor executive corridor, lingering in the quiet air for several long, suffocating seconds before silence returned to the hallway. Arora kept walking—her stride fast, rigid, and unyielding, her dark eyes fixed straight ahead without turning her head even a fraction of an inch back toward the room she had just abandoned.
She knew with absolute certainty that if she turned around right now, if she looked back at that door, she wasn't sure whether she would draw her sidearm and put a hollow-point bullet through Jack's knee or force herself to stand there and listen to his dangerous, velvety voice. Neither option sounded remotely appealing to a woman who had built her entire life on absolute, ironclad control.
