The seventy-eighth floor of Hayes Tower had never felt so violently empty. For the past three months, the executive drafting suite had hummed with an electric, unrelenting vitality. Architectural tracing paper had blanketed the conference tables, blue-tinted CAD monitors had glowed late into the twilight hours, and the air had smelled of roasted Colombian coffee, cedar drafting pencils, and the intoxicating, delicate fragrance of Genevieve’s orange blossom perfume. Now, only…
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