“Dylan Wells.” He says my name like he’s tasting it. Leans against the doorframe all casual confidence and entitlement.
And he’s chewing something.
Not gum. I can hear him swallowing. Food. He’s eating food and chewing with his mouth open like he was raised by wolves.
I can see it. The masticated food. The movement of his jaw. The way his tongue works.
I give him a minute. A full minute to finish chewing and swallow like a normal human being.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he sucks on a tooth—sucks on a tooth—and eyes me up and down. Slowly. Deliberately. Like he’s mentally undressing me and wants me to know it.
Which he definitely is.
Then he raises one arm and rests his forearm on the doorframe above my head.
Oh. That move.
Sigh.
It’s like he can’t help himself. Can’t resist being the most cliche, predictable version of masculinity ever performed. The doorframe lean. The eye fuck. The open-mouth chewing.
I’m going to have to work with this man.
For who know how long.
Alex is going to murder me before Marcus gets the chance. If she ever speaks to me again, her first words will be “I told you this was insane” and she’ll be right.
She’s always right.
Which is probably why I’m so bad at listening to her.
“Mr. Ashford.” I pull out my very best presentation voice. The one that’s smooth and professional and completely devoid of the screaming happening inside my brain. “What a lovely surprise.”
Oh that’s thick. That’s thick as fuck.
I have questions for myself. Concerns, even. About how easily the performance comes. About how good I’m getting at this.
Maybe I need therapy.
But it works. I watch his pupils dilate. Watch him straighten slightly. Preening under the attention.
“Ready?” He asks, raising his eyebrows. That gross flirty thing men do when they think they’re being charming.
“For?” I draw the word out, even though I already know I’m going to regret asking.
The door swings wider. Dom appears behind Marcus, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up, looking far too casual for a Monday morning. Like they’ve been here for hours already. Like they’ve been planning something.
“Your assignment,” Dom says. Matter-of-fact. Like he’s telling me to file paperwork. “Controller Ashford needs you to start today.”
“How long?” I can’t help asking.
“For weeks? Maybe longer.”
“Four weeks?” The words come out higher than intended.
“His entire transition period,” Dom continues. “Setting up the new office, implementing systems, organizing his files from the campaign. You’ll be working from his office at City Hall Monday through Thursday, here on Fridays for our weekly review.”
