He leans back in his chair in the study, a modern space anchored by a large mahogany desk, sleek and polished, with only a few scattered papers. Behind him, a tall window lets in a muted glow, and the walls are lined with minimalist art.
I seat across from him, my work spread out on a smaller section of the table. He’s wearing a light shirt, sleeves casually rolled up, the top buttons undone, and I notice how comfortable his posture is, like he belongs in this room.
I, on the other hand, am dressed casually—joggers and a simple pink tank top. I figured I needed to ditch the professional look for something more comfortable considering how long we’d be we’d be working so closely together.
He leans back, a smirk in place. "Oh? Should we celebrate? Go out on a date?"
I look at him flatly. "No." He grins. "Come on. We've been locked in this house for what, two, three days? We need fresh air."
"There's no fresh air with floor-to-ceiling windows," I shoot back. "I don't know what other fresh air you're looking for, but I'm fine. The AC works, the heater works, my feet are warm. I'm not about to go out chasing wind."
He frowns. "You're no fun. Trying to chase you is like trying to gain the trust of a ginger cat. You look like a small ginger cat actually. I hear they all share one brain cell."
I squint at him. "Are you discriminating against gingers now?"
"Never. I like ginger cats. They're mini lions."
"Whatever. I'm not going anywhere. Don't bother me. I'm going to bed. And no, I'm not staying in your room tonight. Good night." I turn and walk away without looking back.
• • •
The next morning, I wake to a knock on my door. Groggy, still half-asleep, I drag myself over and open it. A huge bouquet shoves into my face. Roses, lilacs, peonies. The whole damn garden.
The scent hits me all at once, and I blink fast, trying to steady myself before I die from pollen overdose.
The perpetrator of my soon murder is beaming down at me, for heaven's sake, who's happy at eight in the morning.
"Flowers in the morning," he says with that smug grin, "for the woman who bloomed today." He pauses. "Or something like that."
I stare at him, deadpan. "Yeah, thanks." I take the flowers, walk back inside, dropping them on the nightstand. I try to slam the door shut, but he jams his foot in the doorway.
"What do you want?" I snap. "You delivered the flowers. What more could you possibly want?"
"I came to discuss the case."
"I can handle that perfectly well on my own. Don't you have people to shoot or something?"
He laughs, deep and genuine. "Do you really think mafias just go around randomly assassinating people?"
"Yes! Absolutely yes!"
He steps closer. "Look, my hands aren't exactly pristine, but I don't engage in killings just for the thrill of it. I mean, sure, I find it exhilarating, but you probably wouldn't consider me dashing if I indulged that habit right before your eyes." His voice lowers. "Though I've heard that some women are drawn to the mystique of danger."
I recoil, scrubbing at my ear. "Fine. But you're going to sit right there. You sit quietly, with your mouth zipped. The moment a single word escapes your lips, I swear, I will lose it."
"Fine," he says, hands raised in surrender. I retreat to the bathroom for a quick wash, When I return, he's holding that ridiculous bouquet again, pulling out two red roses and placing them in a little vase. "Why not just stick the entire arrangement in a larger vase instead of dissecting it?" I ask.
"It's better this way," he says. "These two represent us. Don't you see that?"
I scoff. "Oh, please." I turn toward the closet. When I reemerge, fully dressed, he greets me with that amused expression. "Wow," he says. "I could never tire of seeing you in different outfits."
"And I could never tire of that obnoxious smirk on your face," I shoot back, rolling my eyes.
We sink into the couch, files sprawled between us. But productivity isn't on the agenda. He starts fidgeting. Adjusting the vase. Making noises. Tapping his foot.
I do my best to ignore him, trying to focus on case details. Then, suddenly, he plucks one of the wet roses from the vase and tucks it behind my ear. He leans in and pecks the side of my lips.
Something inside me snaps. Without thinking, I swing my fist and connect hard with his jaw.
