But her?
She used me. Burrowed under my skin, tricked me, and did exactly what she wanted without ever going against my own commands.
From over the crowd, she catches sight of me and steadily holds my gaze for one extra beat. And then her mouth curves, slow and sharp, in a private challenge.
Taking a deep breath, I fight to keep my own lips from curling up.
She’s going to be a real fucking problem.
And I kind of think it’s sexy.
Kirill
Applause melts away at the end of Jordan’s presentation, leaving only the live wire crackle that ignites the crowd as one.
I rise but don’t step forward. Not yet. I linger at the back of the room, watching strangers converge on Jordan, all of them drawn in by her gravity and the aftermath of her words.
She drinks in the attention. Soaks up the adulation. For the first time since I pried her from that tiny apartment, Jordan looks awake.
More than awake. She blazes with energy.
Animated, electric, and utterly sure of herself. Her hands carve the air, punctuating every syllable. Her open face, alive with movement, contains no trace of the wary mask she reserves for me. The black dress, the one that should have staked my claim, now fits her like a second skin.
She owns the outfit now.
My chest tightens.
I crush the sensation. Sentiment is a liability. Respect is only for my betters.
Only strategy matters.
Letting her enjoy the temporary spotlight serves a purpose. Inspires compliance and trust and offers a window I can slip through later.
Nothing but leverage.
Then a fly buzzes into view.
A tall man with gelled blond hair sidles up to Jordan’s shoulder, every detail in his lean silhouette calculated but pretending otherwise. His clothes scream privilege. He flashes her a blinding, hungry smile.
I know his type before he even opens his mouth. The kind who win with words, with practice, with the softest bit of force. They’re the ones you need to watch for.
The charmers and smooth talkers.
I track his approach, instinctively cataloguing. No bulges under those expensive fabrics. No physical risk. The threat liesin the practiced way he parts the circle of men and the deliberate touch on Jordan’s elbow.
She doesn’t shy away.
Doesn’t come back to me.
I’m moving closer before my brain even realizes.
Their conversation drifts over the crowd, needling into my ear like a worm.
“That was brilliant, Jordan.” His voice purrs out a compliment tailored specifically for her. “Your points about energetic blockages were spot on. I’m Mark, by the way. From ‘Mindful Masculinity.’”
I still my twitching fingers.
Jordan smiles, warm and easy and real.
