Her desk was a masterclass in camouflage. A framed photo of her in a sharp blazer sat next to a tiny potted succulent. No one noticed the subtle shimmer of the nail polish she wore under her monitor’s glare, or the way her eyebrows were just a touch too perfect.
He looked her up and down. Not with desire. With appraisal. Does this person fit my box?
Jina’s throat tightened. “I am presentable, Khun Anan. My performance reviews are excellent.”