In pale grief you were a ghost.

June is dressed to kill; a black, short-sleeved blouse with pencil skirt the color of blood that hitches well above her knees and a pair of silver Jimmy Choo heels sharp enough to double as weapons if she so chose. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, highlighting the old, pearl necklace of her mother's that she wears around her neck and the diamond earrings she wears. June Thornton is not fucking around, and as she saunters through the offices of the Cove, she wants everyone there to know it.

"I'd like to speak with Dani Bradshaw, please," June requests of the secretary, a blonde woman now trembling from both the look in June's eyes and the ice in her voice. She drops the latest edition of the Cove on the desk before the woman. "It's something of an urgent, personal matter."