That was around the time our negotiations began.
Cecilia doesn’t look at her cousins. In fact, she ignores them. Just keeps on working.
I’m not sure if she realizes it, but she moves. A sidestep here. A lean there. Inch by inch, slow and steady, she’s moving closer to me.
And I like that too.
I like everything that places her right in the middle of us.
Sammy and Nico Jr. move, flanking me now, creating a space between Cecilia and me.
I frown.
Nico’s jaw tightens.
I can feel his eyes on me, heavy as an indictment.
“Keep it business and we won’t have a problem, Stavros,” he says, casual as a loaded gun.
A slow smile slides across my face—calculated, polite.
“No problem here at all. Just admiring the view,” I murmur, letting my gaze travel deliberately to the bow of the ship, then flicking back to Cecilia.
My tone is a tease, but there’s an edge to it.
What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Not yet.
Cecilia still doesn’t look up. She reads the last line of some clause and taps her lip, cool and precise.
The tablet screen reflects in her forest green eyes—contracts, serial numbers, compliance checks—and for a second, she is all sharp lines and intellect.
Then, she slides the device toward me, pushing her cousin out of the way.
“Move, Nico,” she murmurs.
“Ouch, cuz,” he gripes.
She rolls her eyes, then holds the tablet out to me.
“Mr. Stavros?”
“Please call me Atlas.”
“Okay, Atlas,” she says, and fuck me, I really like the way my name sounds coming from her mouth.
Shit. She’s talking again, and I need to pay attention.
“The chain of custody has to be logged here. Sign, and then we can bring the first crate through customs for inspection,” she says.
I take the stylus with a finger that brushes hers. It’s a whisper of contact but enough.
Her skin is warm. She lifts her chin and meets my look—no invitation, no retreat, just a cool appraisal like a woman sizing treasure.
The cousins notice.
A ripple of guarded stares sweeps the little arena we’ve formed.
