His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Oh, I recognized that. It wasn’t desire, it was control.
“Do you find that attractive?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. Then added, because honesty felt like leverage too, “Unfortunately.”
For a fraction of a second, something shifted. Not heat—containment. Like a door that could open, but didn’t.
Brewster exhaled slowly. “That’s not useful.”
I laughed, sharp and surprised. “You’re telling me you don’t feel it?”
“I’m telling you,” he said evenly, “that acting on it would distort the variables.” How clinical of him.
“There it is,” I said. “You’re resisting.” Didn’t that make him even more attractive. Bastard.
“Yes.”
NotI don’t want to.Notthis is inappropriate.Just:Yes.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because,” he replied, “you’re most effective when youbelievethe choice is yours.”
I stared at him. “You think this would compromise me?” Was he really trying to reduce me to a variable that couldn’t handle contact?
“I think it would complicate you,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”
There it was again—that surgical distinction.
“And you?” I asked. “Would it compromise you?”
He didn’t answer immediately. He picked up his mug, took a measured sip, then set it down with care.
“Yes,” he said. “Which is why I won’t.”
That… wasn’t what I expected. I’d anticipated deflection. Professional distance. A lecture. Not mutual resistance.
I studied him again, recalibrating. “So this is you being ethical,” I said lightly.
“This is me being strategic,” he replied.
I almost snorted. Of course it was. Still, something in my chest loosened. In choosing tonotwant me, he wasn’t making this about me at all. That mattered more than I liked.
The silence returned, different now. Charged, but steadier. Like a current running beneath glass.
My phone buzzed again. This time, it was a message.
Unknown number.
One line.
You’re quiet today
I didn’t look away from Brewster as I read it.
He noticed anyway.
“Contact?” he asked.
