Another laugh.
That’s it.
Dan’s fucking fired.
I storm to the door and yank it open like I’m reclaiming the air outside.
“Max. My office. Now.”
She startles.
Good.
Her eyes snap to mine, wide and alert, and for a split second she looks like she’s deciding whether to push back or comply.
I don’t break eye contact. I don’t soften the intensity. I let her feel every ounce of what’s burning through me as she takes her first step.
Then another.
Each one brings her closer, and my gaze follows her like a slow drag of heat down her spine. Not shouting. Not explosive. Just controlled and sharp enough to cut. She moves quickly, like she knows exactly how thin the line is and how badly she doesn’t want to cross it.
Good girl.
She passes me, close enough that I catch her scent, close enough that the tension snaps tight between us.
Angry, yes.
But underneath it, something far more interesting. Heat.
The second she steps inside my office, I shut the door behind her. Flip the lock. Frost the glass with a single press.
Quiet.
Final.
The room changes instantly. Smaller. Sealed. Like the rest of the world just got cut off.
She turns to face me, already bristling. Arms crossed. Chin tipped up. Eyes loaded with attitude, defiance and something else she’s trying not to show.
All it does is make my jaw flex.
“I want my thirty minutes,” I demand.
It’s meant to sound tactful. Professional.
It doesn’t. Not even a little bit.
Her mouth tightens. “You broke the rules.”
I nod once. No excuses. “I know.”
Her brow arches. “Which rule do you think you broke?”
I hesitate. Shit. “There was more than one?”
She shifts her weight and lets out a slow breath. I can feel the edge dulling, just slightly. “I asked for your attention. Undivided,” she says evenly. “And you took it away.”
I don’t comment on the way that lands in my chest. Or how close it sounds to the exact thing I’m guilty of wanting from her right now.
