The cab drove through, my jaw tight, hands white-knuckled on my lap.
When we pulled up to the front entrance, Silas wasn't waiting.
That was new.
The butler opened the door before I could knock, his expression as neutral as ever. "Mr. Dane. Please, come in."
I stepped inside, every nerve on high alert. "Where's Silas?"
"He'll be with you shortly. If you'll wait in the parlor?—"
"Fine."
He led me down a hallway I recognized, into a room I didn't. Smaller than the War Room. More comfortable. Leather chairs. Bookshelves. A fireplace that looked like it actually got used.
"Can I get you anything?" the butler asked.
"No."
He nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
I paced.
Ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
By the time the door finally opened, I was out of my chair in a flash.
Silas stepped in, calm as ever, hands in his pockets like he had all the time in the world.
"Making me cool my heels?" I snapped.
His eyebrows lifted slightly. "Apologies. I was detained."
"Detained," I repeated, voice hard. "That's great. Really fucking great. While you weredetained, someone walked into Joy's shop and started asking questions about me."
Silas's expression didn't change. "Who's Joy?"
The question hit like a slap.
"Who's—" I stopped, forcing myself to breathe. "The one your people hired for flowers. That Joy."
Recognition flickered across his face. Then something else.
His eyebrow went up. "You're seeing her."
"That's none of your fucking business," I said, voice low and dangerous. "Not yours. Not any of your high-priced goons."
Silas held up a hand, his tone carefully neutral. "Micah?—"
"Don't," I cut him off. "Don't stand there and pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. Someone showed up at her shop. Knew my name. Knew about us. And the timing? The timing is too fucking perfect not to be you."
"It wasn't us," Silas said evenly.
"Bullshit."
"Micah—"
