My jaw tightens. “And he came to your house?”
“He said he wanted to ‘get to know the neighbors.’ But that was just pretense. He wants information.” She rubs her arms, anxiety pulsing through her movements. “He owes people money. Dangerous people. And they want something from him—something that has to do with Ursa Arcane.”
A bitter laugh leaves me before I can stop it. “So he’s stupid.”
“And desperate,” she whispers. “That’s what worries me.”
I step closer, the summer heat tightening between us. “And you used to…” I can’t finish it. I don’t want to hear it, but I have to. “You dated him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” The question escapes harsher than intended.
Roxy bristles. “Because I was young and stupid. And he—” She shakes her head. “When he ended things, he made it sound like it was my fault.”
“What did he say?”
She hesitates—ashamed, lips pressed together.
“He said I was too much,” she murmurs. “Too much of a handful.”
I stare at her. Then, quietly—cold enough to frost over the heat in the air—the double meaning bleeds into my mind.A handful.I’ll fucking kill him.
“So what your sister said that night was true.”
Her eyes look up in surprise, widening. “You remember that?”
I let my gaze drag over her body, ignoring the couple who walk by and eye us, murmuring. Each curve is luscious, full, and my hands flex, wanting to touch her. “I remember. A man like Eric Harlan can’t handle a woman like you, Roxanne. Can’t give you what you need.”
The summer heat is suddenly back and blazing. Her breath catches.
Because I am looking at her. Really looking. At the curves he dismissed. At the softness he found inconvenient. At the fire in her eyes that man tried to snuff out.
She swallows. Hard. Heat rolls through her—I see it, I feel it, the way her pulse jumps in her throat.
But this isn’t the place or the moment. And the lawyer is waiting. I force my eyes away, hating the effort it takes.
“We’re going to talk about this later,” I say. “I need every detail about him. Every word he said. Every threat.”
She nods, but her breathing is still uneven. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I didn’t want to cause trouble.”
“You think trouble doesn’t exist simply because you refuse to name it?” She flinches—not at the words, but at the truth in them. I reach out, let my hand brush down her arm, feeling her tremble. “Roxanne. What I’m most concerned about is Andi. Fuck his secret hunting; if he touches her, I’ll slit his throat.”
She stumbles at the harsh words, children’s laughter suddenly breaking out all around us. I catch her arm and steady her. A few steps behind, Vadim watches impassively.
We reach the corner where the law office sits—an old stone building with navy shutters and a slate roof that glints silver in the sun. The harbor breeze rolls through, carrying salt and lilac. It’s almost peaceful.
The meeting won’t be long.
I step toward the door. She moves to follow, but I stop her with a raised hand. “No,” I say. “You’re not coming in.”
She opens her mouth. “But—” Her hand goes to her purse, where her laptop and notebook are tucked away. Normally I’d expect her to track every word, every task that needs to be completed, every promise.
“I said, no.” My voice cuts clean through the warm air. “This meeting is mine.”
“I work for you.”
“And I decide where you’re needed.”
