She was soaking us up.
"Why are you staring?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "Do I have ink on my face?"
"You have ink everywhere," I said softly.
I reached out. I didn't think about it. I just acted on the instinct that had been clawing at me since she signed the contract in the boardroom.
I brushed my thumb across her cheekbone, wiping away a smudge of black ink.
Her skin was warm. Soft. She flinched, just a fraction, but she didn't pull away. Her breath hitched.
I looked into her eyes. They were wide, analyzing me, searching for the clause that allowed this interaction.
There is no clause,I wanted to say.This is just me.
"You're doing good work, Rowan," I said, my voice dropping lower. "Strategic."
"I'm just organizing," she whispered, her gaze dropping to my mouth before snapping back to my eyes.
"No," I corrected, letting my hand linger on her jaw for a second too long. "You're building the gallows."
Mateo cleared his throat from the doorway. It was a warning sound.Too close. Too fast.
I stepped back. The loss of contact felt like a physical chill.
"Juno grabbed dinner," Mateo said, his voice tight. "Eat. Then work."
Rowan looked at Mateo, then at me, then at Juno. She seemed to realize, for the first time, that she was alone in a room with the three of us and we were all vibrating with a frequency that had nothing to do with business.
She stood up. She smoothed her skirt. She picked up her legal pad, holding it to her chest like a shield.
"Right," she said, her voice brisk, retreating back into the manager persona. "Fuel. Efficient. Let’s go."
She walked past us, her head high, the pencil behind her ear tipping slightly until her hair caught it.
I watched her go.
"She has no idea," Juno murmured, coming up beside me.
"No idea about what?" Mateo asked, staring at the empty hallway.
"That she just conquered the room without saying a word," Juno said. He looked at me, his eyes gleaming. "You're gone, Stephen. You're absolutely gone for her."
"I respect her mind," I lied, adjusting my cuffs.
"Reframing isn't just for clients," Juno laughed softly. "But don't worry. I think Mateo wants to build a moat around her, so you'll have to get in line."
I looked at the papers on the floor. The spreadsheet-like grids. The structure she had tried to bring to the chaos of her life.
"I don't want a moat," I said, picking up the highlighter she had used. It was still warm. "I want to be the one helping her build her own fortress."
I pocketed the highlighter.
"Let's go eat," I said. "Before she tries to unionize the kitchenware."
We left the library. But the scent of peppermint and graphite lingered in the air, heavier than the storm outside, and I knew, with the terrifying certainty of a verdict being read, that we were in trouble.
We had put a blade against our own throats. We just hadn't realized the weapon was her.
