“You tell Moretti I don’t wait,” he growls.
“I’ll tell Mr. Moretti you came by,” she replies, voice calm but firm. “And I’ll also tell him you handled this situation professionally and not emotionally charged.”
I grin at her underhanded backhand. There is a beat of silence. Then the man huffs out a sharp breath, mutters something under his breath, and stalks toward the elevators. Briar waits until the doors close before exhaling quietly and returning to her desk like nothing happened.
I watch her for a long moment.
She did not flinch.
Most men twice her size would have.
Something low and sharp twists in my gut. It’s almost as if she is used to violence. Or men shouting in her face. I grind my jaw, not liking the thought of that at all. Not for anyone. Her composure reminds me of the men I used to face down across warehouse floors—guns drawn, threats tossed like currency. No shaking hands. No fear. Just cold, deadly focus. It’s unsettling how easily the memory creeps in.
Anthony appears in the doorway a minute later. “You want me to toss him next time?”
“No,” I say, reading the email Briar sent me regarding the interaction and that the issue has been sorted by accounts. “She handled it.”
Anthony looks to where Briar sits, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he comes to sit in the chair across from my desk. “Didn’t expect that from her.”
Neither did I. “She’s not what I thought,” I admit under my breath, more to myself than to him. I like a strong woman, someone who stands up for herself, and it would seem Briar is one of those. My earlier assumption of her character was off.
Anthony cracks his neck but doesn’t comment. “Romero and one of his men were spotted not far from here. Having lunch in Pen’s Café. Odd, don’t you think? Why would he be in Manhattan or so close to Moretti Global? Something’s up with him, I’m certain of it.”
I drag my attention back to him, forcing my expression into steel. “He shouldn’t have an interest. I’ve had nothing to do with my father’s business acquisitions for many years. Everything we do here is legitimate. There is no reason for them to be sniffing around unless they are after something or some kind of outcome.” I pause. “Look into it?”
“I will,” he says. “They’re circling, Lucien. Testing boundaries, maybe seeing how far they can push you before you snap.”
“Then keep them away. I’m not in that business anymore. I won’t jeopardize my employees’ welfare or our family’s position. Not for a thug.” My voice comes out flat, leaving no room for argument.
Staying clean isn’t easy. The world I grew up in doesn’t let go, not really. Some nights I still hear the echo of metal smashing against concrete, smell the gunpowder and river waterthat coated my hands when I did the jobs no one else wanted. I walked away from all of it—but walking away doesn’t erase blood.
Anthony nods once, then disappears as silently as he came.
But my thoughts don’t follow him. They stay fixed on my laptop and the massive amount of work I must do before the end of the day, yet the image of Briar standing her ground is burned into my mind.
Later, I message her to come to my office to go over a shipment contract. She steps inside, notebook in hand, as composed as ever, though I catch the faintest flush in her cheeks when our eyes meet.
“You cross-checked the Capstone figures?” I ask.
“Yes.” She slides the notes across my desk. “The discrepancies were on their end, but I flagged them so there’s no confusion later.”
I skim the page and glance up. “You handled the supplier earlier without escalating it.”
She nods, and for the first time since she started here, her eyes cloud with resignation. “I’ve dealt with worse,” she says softly, almost offhand, and lowers her eyes to her notebook.
Worse!
The word sticks, heavy and deliberate in my mind, pulling at threads I don’t like tugging on. A raw and unguarded part of me that isn’t easily calmed, a part of me from the past I’m determined to keep locked away where it belongs.
The part of me trained to put men like that on their knees and make sure they never threatened anyone again. The part I promised would never see daylight once I buried my father.
The part of me that seeks revenge and will stop at nothing until I’ve achieved it.
“Good work,” I say finally. My voice is rougher than I intend, so I clear my throat and add, “Keep it up.”
She nods, gathers her papers, and leaves, the scent of her perfume lingering faintly in the air. God, she smells good. Like spring when you catch it in the breeze, fresh and sweet.
I stare after her, jaw tight, fingers drumming against the desk.
