“King,” he said.“Ivy’s here.”
The office was bigger than she expected, but sparse.A heavy desk dominated the space.There were maps on the walls, a couple of chairs that looked like they’d seen better days.King sat behind the desk, broad shouldered and imposing, his presence filling the room even while seated.
He looked frightening at first glance.King had cold eyes, was made of hard lines.He seemed to Ivy like a man who’d seen things and survived them.However, when King smiled, it was measured, professional even.
“Ivy,” he said, standing and extending a hand.“Glad you could make it.”
She shook it, his grip firm but not crushing.“Thanks for seeing me.”
“Have a seat,” King instructed.
As they talked, something inside her slowly unclenched.King didn’t waste time with posturing.He talked walls, placement, themes and longevity.He asked about her process, about weatherproofing, about timelines.He talked money without dancing around it.When he named a figure, Ivy had to consciously keep her jaw from dropping.
“You’d be painting several areas,” he said.“Perimeter walls.Training buildings.Maybe the clubhouse exterior if this goes well.”
“That’s a lot of surface,” she said.
“We’ve got a lot of history,” King replied evenly.“I’d like it reflected.”
“I can do that,” she said, and realized she meant it.
She was just starting to relax when the door opened behind her.Boots crossed the threshold and her spine went stiff.
Havoc filled the doorway like trouble given shape.He wore a faded leather cut and dark jeans that hugged his powerful thighs.That same restless energy she sensed the other day clung to him like smoke.He turned his gaze to her and frowned.
He didn’t look that happy to see her.His expression was all hard lines and narrowed eyes, like her presence was an inconvenience he hadn’t planned for.There was irritation there and maybe even suspicion.
Well.She felt the same, didn’t she?Except that would be a lie.
The truth sat heavier in her chest than she liked to admit.For the past three nights, Havoc had crept into her thoughts without invitation.The heat of his stare and the tension in his shoulders.
The way sorrow clung to him like tar, thick and stubborn, impossible to scrub away.She’d seen it in the set of his mouth, in the way his eyes carried too much weight for a man still standing.
It wasn’t just walls that fascinated her.Ivy was also drawn to people, to the stories written into their posture and their scars, the quiet truths they carried whether they meant to or not.Havoc was a story etched deep, all rough edges and buried ache.
Something in her wanted to trace it, understand it, maybe even translate it into color and shape.If she was being honest, painfully honest, she couldn’t deny the pull of him either.The dangerous magnetism of a man who looked like he might break youandhimself in the same breath.
The kind of attraction that had nothing to do with sense and everything to do with instinct.That realization unsettled her more than his glare ever could.
“What’s she doing here?”he demanded, eyes never leaving her.
King’s gaze sharpened, flicking between them.“You know each other?”
Ivy lifted her chin before Havoc could speak.“I’m here for a job.”
Havoc’s eyes narrowed.“What job?”Havoc demanded.
He finally looked at King.Ivy took the opportunity to breathe.
“King hired me,” she said evenly.“To paint murals around the compound.”
She met Havoc’s stare again and tried her best to ignore his glare.“Is that a problem?”
For a long moment, he just looked at her.Something unreadable flickered across his face.Then his mouth tilted slightly.
“No problem,” he said.
“Good,” King said, leaning back in his chair.“Then you won’t mind keeping an eye on her while she’s working.”
