The morning had been unproductive.
Ray Carver sat behind his desk at TechCorp and did what he rarely permitted himself to do: think about a problem he hadn't yet solved. The contracts in front of him were signed. The calls had been handled. His schedule for the afternoon was manageable. There was no external pressure requiring his attention right now, which meant the internal pressure had room to expand, and it had chosen to expand in the direction it always did when he let his guard down.
Aurora.
He had pushed too hard. Again. He knew it the moment it had happened—the way her
