Andrew sees it, and his fingers clench around the whiskey. Every muscle ripples down his forearm, his jaw tensing.
Then his stare goes cold,
eyes tracking Raymond’s fingers.
“Looks like you’re havin’ your fun,” Raymond says.
I step back an inch to make his hand slide off my arm, and I grip the spot where his fingers were, chasing his touch with my own, trying to overwrite the memory before it settles into my skin.
“Not yet,” I say, gaze drifting across the room.
“But the night’s still young.”
Raymond swirls the whiskey in his glass,
sips slow,
eyes on me the whole time.
Then his smirk crawls in,
and he leans close, arm settling on the bar?—
“Been keepin’ those pretty hands busy, huh.”
He smirks.
He’s not only talking about me digging into files at Soundwave. The devil in his eyes says he knows I haven’t used Ben in twelve days.
I match his smirk,
pissed that Ben updates him.
Pissed he’s got eyes in the building
and in my penthouse,
watching my every move.
“Keeping tabs again?”
“Hey—I’m just lookin’ out.”
He shrugs, eyes moving across the room.
“Poke around long enough, you’re bound to find somethin’ that bites back. And your daddy? Made more than a few messy deals.”
Andrew’s listening. Andrew's watching.
Every quick glance is a fingerprint pressed into the back of my neck.
Raymond lifts his glass,
watching me over the rim.
“No point diggin’ up ghosts, baby.
“I’m tryin’ to keep your legacy spotless.
