IRIS The morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the glow reflecting across the insanely sleek, modern kitchen. Everything about Maverick’s house screamed wealth and power.But none of that mattered now.Because I had been standing in front of the world’s most complicated coffee maker for the past ten minutes, trying to figure out how to turn it on.I pressed a button. Nothing happened. I pressed another. The machine made a low humming noise, and for a second, I thought I had finally won.But then it beeped. Loudly.I jumped back with my eyes wide. “Oh come on,” I muttered under my breath, pressing buttons at random. I was hungover and I needed my fucking coffee. “This fucking thing,” I cursed.A soft laugh came from behind me. “Struggling with the machine, are we?”Startled, I turned around and found myself face to face with an older woman, maybe in her mid-sixties. She had silver-streaked black hair that was pulled back in a neat bun, and she had the warmest,
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