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George's P.O.V I shut the door hard behind me, breathing heavily in frustration as I walked to my desk. I sat down in the chair, rested my elbows on the desk, and covered my face with my hands. My mind was going back to just one name, one face—Whitney Decodes. Or was it Wendy? Could it really be her? A sharp pain hit my chest at the thought. Even with her coldness and sharp looks, there was something in her eyes when she glanced at me—yes, that same fire—that made me think of her. Was I just imagining it? Was I wishing for something because I was desperate, or was this real? “Damn it.” I whispered to myself, pulling my hair with both hands. Her rejection hit my pride hard. No woman had ever resisted me this much, much less brushed me off like that. But if this Whitney was really Wendy,
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