That's when I make my second mistake.
“Can we focus?” I snap, the tension making me reckless. Bratty. Stupid. “Because I have actual thoughts about the heritage content, if anyone cares.”
Everett's fingers stop moving.
“Let's hear them,” he says, voice silk over steel. “We're all ears.”
Something in his tone should warn me. Something in the way his hand has gone still—predatory still, like a cat before it pounces—should make me stop.
But I've never been smart about Everett Morgan.
“First of all—” I start.
One thick finger slides beneath the elastic and sinks into me.
I choke on air.
“First of all what?” Roman prompts.
I scramble for the thought. Force words out through the fucking horny explosion in my brain. “First of all—the historical documentation needs to be centralized. Everything's scattered across three different archives.”
“Fair point,” Nolan concedes. “What else?”
Everett's finger curls. My vision wavers.
“Second of all—” My voice is strained now, but I'm in too deep to stop.
A second finger joins the first.
“The timeline for the preservation assessment is completely unrealistic. You can't rush a proper survey.” The sound that escapes me on the heels of those words is so not human.
“You okay?” Roman frowns. “You sound like you're choking.”
“Swallowed wrong.” I'm dying. I'm actually dying. “I'm fine.”
“You said there was a third thing,” Nolan says,because Nolan never misses anything and apparently wants me to suffer.
Everett glances at me over his shoulder. Dark eyes meet mine—the challenge in them?
Unmistakable.
Go ahead. I dare you.
“Third of all?—”
His lips twitch with just a hint of a smirk.
Three fingers. All the way in.
I huff out a breath. My heart climbs into my throat, the frantic beat hammering in my ears.
“—I—”
He curls his fingers, the pressure firm, almost arrogant.
Words. What are words. “I forgot.”
“You forgot.” Nolan's voice is flat with suspicion.
