Something shifted then. Not trust. Not attraction, exactly. But she was intrigued. She exhaled through her nose, almost a laugh. “At least you’re honest.”
“About this,” I said. “Yes.”
She studied my face like she was reading subtext between lines. If she noticed the pull—if she noticed the way my attention had narrowed to her and stayed there—she didn’t name it.
Good.
“You don’t flinch,” she said suddenly.
“Neither do you.”
“People usually do,” she added. “Around me.”
“That’s because they’re trying to impress you.”
Her eyes flickered. Not away. Down. Then back up. “And you’re not?”
I let a beat pass. Just enough. “I’m trying to contain a situation.”
She held my gaze, searching for the lie. If she found one, she didn’t call it out.
Flint broke the moment by moving toward the window, his reflection cutting across the glass. “This feels like a bad idea,” he muttered.
“Most good stories start that way.” Mallory didn’t look at him.
I watched her carefully. The confidence. The certainty. The belief that she could navigate this because she always had.
She didn’t see the line she’d crossed. She thought she was still choosing the questions.
Flint did.
He waited until the moment stretched just long enough to feel uncomfortable, then said, “Mallory. I need a word.”
Her eyes flicked to him. Then to me. A calculation of her own.
“Now?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Alone.”
He didn’t look at me when he said it. Didn’t need to. He wasn’t asking.
Mallory hesitated just long enough to make a point of it. Then she nodded and followed him toward the far end of the room, near the window.
Not far enough. I stayed where I was.
Flint stopped after a few steps and turned back, jaw tight. “We need privacy.”
“You have it,” I said evenly. “I’m not recording.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know,” I replied.
Mallory glanced between us, something like amusement threading through her curiosity. “Relax,” she said to Flint. “He can’t hear us.”
She was wrong.
They stood close. Not touching. Flint angled his body toward her, instinctively blocking sightlines, lowering his voice. Protective. Territorial. A mistake.
