But it's also too much. Too intimate.
I feel it everywhere. Not just where his palm rests against my shoulder. I feel it in my chest. In my stomach. In the sudden awareness of how close he is. How much bigger he is.
Warmth spreads outward from the point of contact like ripples in still water. My body reacts before my brain catches up. My pulse slows fractionally. My breathing evens out. The panic recedes just enough that I can think clearly again.
"Calm down," he says. His voice is still low. But there's something gentler in it now. "You're not in trouble."
He drops his hand. Steps back. Creates distance again.
The absence of his touch is almost as noticeable as the touch itself. Like something warm was pressed against my skin and then suddenly removed, leaving cold air in its place.
"Follow me."
I follow him through the entryway into the living room. The space is different than it was the other night. The curtains are open this time. Daylight spills through the floor-to-ceiling windows, though the light is still muted. Filtered.
The other man is already seated in the same chair as before. Same posture. Same rigid control. But he's wearing sunglasses now. Dark lenses that completely hide his eyes. Maybe the light bothers him. Maybe he needs the darkness.
The man who let me in gestures to a chair across from him. "Sit."
I sit. My hands fold in my lap automatically. My pulse is still racing but slower now. More manageable.
"I'm Artan," he says. His tone is formal. Clipped. Professional. "This is Luan."
I nod. "Lily."
"We know." Artan says. "We have a job proposition for you."
I blink. My brain stutters. Resets. Tries to process what I just heard. "A job?"
That's not what I was expecting. Not even close. I came here expecting to be fired. To be blamed for something. To have consequences delivered.
Not offered employment.
"Luan needs assistance for the next few weeks," Artan continues. His voice is steady. Measured. "Primarily with meals. You'd be responsible for cooking and basic housekeeping. Light cleaning. Organization. Grocery shopping. Whatever's needed to keep the household running smoothly."
Before I can respond, before I can even begin to formulate a reply, Luan interrupts.
His voice is flat. Cold. Hard as stone. "I don't need fussing over. I can manage most of the time. When I need you, I'll call. Otherwise, stick to the house. Keep things clean. Stay out of my way. Understood?"
The tone lands like a slap. Sharp and dismissive. Like I'm a servant he's grudgingly accepting into his space. Like I'm an inconvenience he's being forced to tolerate.
I bristle. Heat crawls up my neck. I want to tell him to take his grumpiness and shove it somewhere the sun doesn't reach. Want to tell him I don't need this job badly enough to put up with being spoken to like I'm beneath him.
But I do need it. Desperately.
"Understood," I say. My voice is even. Give him nothing to react to.
I study him while he sits there in silence. Stone-faced behind those dark lenses.
He's handsome. I'll give him that much. Dark hair. Strong features. The sunglasses hide his eyes completely, but I remember the green from before. Striking. Unusual. The kind of eyes that stay with you.
He's younger than Artan. Thirty, maybe. Controlled in a way that feels deliberate. Like he's holding himself together through sheer force of will. Like if he relaxed for even a second, something dangerous might slip free.
But there's hostility underneath the control. Something sharp and cold and uninviting. Something that makes me want to keep my distance. Makes me want to tread carefully around him.
Handsome grump. That's what he is. Beautiful and hostile in equal measure.
Artan clears his throat. The sound breaks the tension stretching between us. "The hours would be eight a.m. to nine p.m. Monday through Friday. Weekends off unless otherwise needed. Long days, I know. But we're willing to compensate accordingly."
