The man behind the office desk straightened up as Tessa Wilder strolled in, her presence cool, effortless, the kind of thing that came with being a Wilder—but also, more importantly, the kind of thing that came with being the most dangerous person in the room while looking like a fashion ad.
She stopped in front of the desk and gave him a nod, casual as hell.
"Uncle Damian."
The man—Damian Wilder—gave her a small, knowing smile, his gaze sharp. He wasn't direct family, but in the Wilders, connections and distant relationships ran deeper than direct blood. He'd been running this operation for decades, handling all the big-ticket transactions, and tonight was no different.
"Miss Wilder." He greeted her smoothly, though there was clear familiarity there. "I see you finally decided to stop ignoring my calls and came to visit this old man!"
Tessa's lips twitched in amusement. "You say that like I was actually ignoring them."
"You were ignoring them."
