Ace's POV
The lights from the studio were bright, too bright. I sat stiffly on the sleek white couch of the talk show set, wearing my best tailored smile, one I'd perfected over the years. The host cracked jokes, the audience laughed on cue, and the cameras panned in and out as I held up the new limited-edition Knightingale beer bottle for the world to see.
"Tell us more about the new campaign, Mr. Knight," the host prompted, her eyes sparkling behind heavy mascara.
I glanced to my right, to the shadows just behind the cameras, and found her.
Scarlett.
Holding my files like the dutiful assistant she was pretending to be. But her lips were still pressed together in a firm line.
She hadn't spoken to me all day unless absolutely necessary. Her words clipped and cold with her eyes void of any warmth. And yet, she looked stunning, even in her professional pants and crisp white shirt.
