Bold.Calculated.Exactly the kind of move that had probably worked on a hundred lesser men who didn't have a dragon in their blood and a mother-in-law they'd just fucked senseless.
"Elena."
The Madam's voice cut through the room like a blade through silk.
Her daughter's legs snapped closed. Her expression flickered—guilt, annoyance, something else—before settling into innocent confusion so fake it could've won an Oscar.
"Yes, Mom?"
"Off the desk. Now."
Elena slid down with exaggerated reluctance, smoothing her skirt with a pout that could've melted steel.
The Madam turned to Phei, and just like that, the armor was back. Full Ashford Madam mode—spine straight, chin lifted, eyes cool and commanding.
"Mr. Maxton. Your apology has been received and accepted."
She picked up the letter from her desk—the one he'd delivered, the one that had gotten crumpled somewhere between his arrival and their… activities—and set it aside.
Then she picked up something else.
A cheque.
