"I had to be at The Dominion by six. I stayed until five forty-seven." I drain my coffee, set down the mug with more force than necessary. "She needed support after being psychologically attacked for an hour. I provided it. That's protection."
"That's proximity." Elias's voice doesn't carry judgment, just observation. "There's a difference between checking in and spending over an hour in her apartment helping her process. One is professional. The other is personal."
"Can't it be both?"
"It can. But you need to be honest about which is driving your decisions." He's moving again, settling into what sounds like his study. "Jax, I'm not saying you did anything wrong yesterday. You followed the rules. You maintained boundaries during the actual threat. What concerns me is what happened after. The extended visit. The food. The care that goes beyond security protocols."
"She needed—"
"I'm sure she did need support. The question is whether you're the appropriate person to provide it, or whether you're providing it because you want proximity to someone you're attracted to." He lets that sit for a moment. "Those motivations create different dynamics. One is protection. The other is possession disguised as care."
The accusation hits harder than it should. "I'm not possessing her. I'm helping her survive a hostile legal challenge from her dead husband's brother."
He doesn't respond for a while, then: "Did you tell her yet? About being attracted to her, about how it complicates things?"
My silence answers him.
"Jax." His tone carries disappointment rather than surprise. "We discussed this. You were supposed to have that conversation after the lunch—after you proved you could maintain boundaries under pressure. You proved it. Now follow through."
"I'm planning to. Today, after her attorney meeting—"
"Planning isn't the same as doing. And every hour you delay makes the omission more dishonest." He pauses, lets that sink in. "You went to her apartment yesterday. Spent over an hour there. You're going back today. If you keep choosing proximity without giving her full context about your feelings, you're operating from deception. We both know where that leads."
The comparison to Gabriel sits between us, unspoken but clear.
"And if I tell her and she doesn't want personal involvement?" The question comes out more defensive than I intend.
"Then you respect that decision. Transfer her protection to someone else if necessary. Prove that her agency matters more than your desire for proximity." His voice softens fractionally. "But I still don't think she'll reject it. Everything you've described—the negotiated boundaries, the way she responds to you—none of that suggests she's tolerating your presence. It suggests she's choosing it."
"Choosing surveillance isn't the same as choosing involvement."
"Which is exactly why you need to give her the information to make an informed choice." He's moving again, his tone shifting into something that signals the conversation is ending. "Today, Jax. Have the conversation today. Directly. No more delays. Because the longer you wait, the more you're replicating Gabriel's pattern—deciding what information she gets to have about the person protecting her."
The weight of that sits in my chest heavier than before. He's right. Delaying isn't caution anymore. It's control disguised as consideration.
"I'll tell her today," I say. "No deflection."
"Good. Call me after. Let me know how it goes." He pauses. "And Jax? I'm not trying to make this harder. I'm trying to keep you from becoming what you're protecting her from. That only works if you stay honest—with her and with yourself."
We talk for another fifteen minutes—reviewing my assessment of Ezra's threats, discussing Lucien's investigation, confirming our weekly check-in schedule. By the time the call ends, it's 10:31 AM and my phone shows a text from Lana sent three minutes ago.
The meeting with Mira finished. She's optimistic about our position. Can we talk?
I type:Your apartment or somewhere else?
Here is fine. Whenever works for you.
I can be there in twenty minutes.
See you then.
I shower faster than usual, dress in jeans and a sweater that splits the difference between professional and casual, grab my laptop and the notes I've compiled on Ezra's background. If I'm going to her apartment, I need justification beyond wanting to see her.
The walk takes eighteen minutes. I count the blocks, run through what I'm going to say, rehearse the conversation Elias demanded I have.I'm attracted to you. It complicates our professional relationship. Here's how I'm managing those feelings.
The words feel impossible even in rehearsal.
At her building, I climb three flights of stairs that smell like old carpet and cooking from a dozen apartments. Her door is at the end of the hallway, and I'm aware that the camera I installed in her entrance is probably showing me standing here, that she's watching me approach the same way I've been watching her for weeks.
