Lyra didn’t join the book publishing industry to sip oat milk or exchange Instagram handles.

She’s brilliant, loud, and sharper than most of the men running meetings. She came to outwork, outwit, and maybe burn a few bridges on her way up.

She doesn’t do soft. Doesn’t do crushes. Definitely doesn’t do “office-appropriate.”

But then he walked in.

Dylan Corr. Industry god. Married. Controlled. Untouchable.
He smells like leather, ink, and every bad decision she’d ever ...
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