My heat isn’t due for another few days. If I keep dosing myself heavily enough, I might be able to suppress this cyclecompletely. Push it off another month, maybe two, until after Enzo Valerio is rotting in the ground.
I force myself back to work, ignoring the lingering tremor in my hands. The footage I’m copying shows the loading dock from a little over six months ago—right around the time Sokolov’s missing shipment would’ve moved through. If I can find proof that he redirected it, or proof that Marco stumbled onto something he wasn’t supposed to see…
The door beeps. I minimize the transfer window and pull up a diagnostic screen just as Esperanza walks in.
“Mr. DaCosta.” She doesn’t smile. I don’t think I’ve seen her smile since the first day. “Mr. Valerio wants to see you.”
My pulse kicks up. “Problem with my work?”
“He didn’t say.” She’s already turning, expecting me to follow. “Now, please.”
I save my work, pocket the drive, and trail her through Eclipse’s back corridors. We’ve done this dance twice before, once for a progress update and once because Valerio wanted to show me a vulnerability in their perimeter security. Both times, I’d walked into his office expecting it to be the moment I finally snap and damn it all to hell. But I’d held back because the timing wasn’t right. Lucky bastard.
And both times, Valerio had been coldly professional. Observant as fuck, asking questions that made me second-guess every detail of my cover, but professional.
I tell myself this time will be no different.
Esperanza leads me to the executive level, but instead of Valerio’s office, she stops at a conference room. Through theglass walls, I can see him standing at the head of a long table, phone pressed to his ear.
He’s in shirtsleeves today, rolled to his elbows, exposing forearms corded with muscle. His hair is slightly mussed, like he’s been running his fingers through it, and the top button of his collar is undone.
My gaze catches on those forearms, the thick veins running beneath tan skin, and the casual way he’s leaning against the table. All confidence and power, and I feel a ball of heat rush south from the base of my spine. I tear my eyes away before it becomes a problem.
Get it together.
Valerio sure is an attractive man. I’ll give him that.
What I don’t understand—and definitely don’t like—is how his scent has been haunting me for seven days straight, creeping into my dreams, making me wake up hard and furious at myself for it.
In fact, I’ll add an extra bullet for that alone.
He sees us and ends his call just as Esperanza opens the door.
“Mr. DaCosta, sir.”
“Thank you, Maria.” He dismisses her with a nod, and she leaves without a word.
The door clicks shut, and suddenly the conference room feels too small, too warm. The air too thick with his scent.
His gaze travels over my face.
“Sit.”
I sit, taking the chair farthest from him. He remains standing, which puts him at an advantage, looking down at me. Probably intentional.
“Your progress report was thorough,” he says. No preamble or pleasantries. “You’ve identified seventeen vulnerabilities in our current security infrastructure, three of which are critical.”
“Eighteen,” I correct before I can stop myself. “There’s a blind spot in the parking garage camera coverage at the warehouse on West Forty-Eighth. Third level, southeast corner. Someone could intercept shipments there. Move product without any record.”
His eyebrow—the one with the faded scar—lifts slightly. “You found that this morning?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
“And you were going to include it in tonight’s report?”
“Yes.”
He studies me for a long moment, and I force myself to hold his gaze even though every instinct is screaming at me to look away, to submit.
