Let them talk. Let them watch.
I’ll give them something to see.
14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN — DIVIDED LOYALTIES
MARNIE
The break room is full of the clatter of spoons and the forced civility of people who would gladly strangle each other for a better-located cubicle. I’m at the sink, rinsing my mug, when Walter’s shadow falls across the counter. Him again? Why is the old man harassing me? He’s still, pretending to study the coffee selection, but my skin crawls because I know he’s scoping me for weaknesses.
I freeze, hands in the running water, waiting for him to pounce. He doesn’t speak, just watches with that reptile patience, letting the air fill with tension.
It’s Brent who finally breaks the tableau.
My alpha male strides in, looking every inch a confident bastard in a tailored charcoal suit and cufflinks that could pay my rent for a year. He surveys the room, sees me, sees Walter, and knows instantly what’s happening. It’s like a sixth sense with him—he can smell confrontation before it’s fully grown.
He crosses to us, placing himself squarely between me and Walter. His voice is smooth but hard-edged. “Ms. Williams,I hope you’re finding everything you need for the McFarland brief?”
I swallow. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Gibson. Just taking a break before the final push.”
Brent’s eyes are on Walter now, cold and blue. “Good to see you, Hoffman. Anything I can help you with? Coffee? Milk? The sugar’s over there.”
Walter gives a brittle smile. “Just reminding Ms. Williams of proper records protocol.”
Brent lets the silence stretch, then says, “Ms. Williams has my explicit authorization to access any files she needs, now or in the future. If you have concerns, bring them to me.” His tone brooks no argument.
The old man’s lips press into a thin line. He picks up a paper packet of sugar, twists it until it splits, and pours it into his mug with slow precision. “Of course,” he says, but the look he gives me is pure poison.
He leaves, and the temperature in the room rises ten degrees.
Brent turns to me, lowers his voice. “You okay?”
I try to laugh, but it comes out thin. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
His hand finds the small of my back, light but protective. The touch is fire, but I force myself to stand tall. “Thank you for that,” I say, and mean it.
He leans close, voice just for me. “Be careful. That fucker’s a snake. We’ve been trying to get him out of the partnership at Gibson Grant for years, but he’s been here so long that it’s near impossible.”
I nod, heart banging in my chest. “Got it.”
Brent looks at me a second longer, searching my face, then lets his hand fall and walks out, and I take a deep breath. God, that was so stressful, and it was literally a coffee-break encounter.
The rest of the day passes in a haze of adrenaline and spreadsheets. I can’t focus. I can’t forget the look in Walter’s eyes, or the way Brent stepped in—like I was already his responsibility, or maybe his favorite person in the world.
At 4:52, my phone buzzes. It’s a message from James:
My office. Now.
I grab my notepad, ignore the knowing glances from the admin pool, and walk down the corridor, head high. The door is open, but James waits inside, pacing, jaw set. The man is gorgeous, as usual, with his dark hair flowing back from a high forehead, and that big body clad in a perfectly-fitted suit.
When I enter, he closes the door behind me with a click. There are no greetings this time. Just a printout on the desk and James, looking intense.
He gestures to the chair. “Sit.”
I do, and he leans on the edge of the desk, arms folded.
“I heard about your little meeting with Hoffman,” he says, not a question.
