Their gazes locked, and neither of them spoke. Then her eyes narrowed.
“Are you this much of a dick to everyone who walks through your door?”
At that, Darla gave a muffled cough, and Leo bit back a growl. This was bad enough without an audience.
“Get in here.” He gestured impatiently into his office, and Faith dragged her feet as she moved forward, pressing against the doorframe as she sidled past, like she was scared to brush against him. Smart, actually. He wasn’t sure how he’d react either.
“I’ll hold your calls,” Darla said sweetly as he kicked the door shut behind him, trapping them inside his office. Together.
He was standing far too close to her, so close that he could hear her tiny inhale. For a moment it looked like she was going to run. Just turn on her heel and bolt out the door. But after a beat she lifted her chin, clearly not wanting to give him the satisfaction of taking a single step back.
“I’m hoping you can help me,” she finally said. He recognized her tone as the performatively friendly one she used to use with teachers and authority figures, the one that made people fall all over themselves to help that nice Fox girl.
And that’s when it occurred to him:hewas the authority figure now. This job he desperately wanted to succeed at had made him the only person who could give Faith something she needed. The very idea of that role-reversal pulled the corners of his mouth up. Faith Fox, in his power.
He was going to enjoy this.
Faith must’ve seen something she didn’t like in his face, because she glanced over her shoulder at the closed door. “Is there any chance there’s another person working on the grant that I could talk to?”
He just smiled more broadly and dragged his eyes down her body and then back up.
“I’m it, Faith. What do you want? And why are you here in your gym clothes?”
She flushed, her cheeks glowing red, and it sent his blood rushing south. Seeing her undone had always worked for him, and she was all kinds of undone now. As a bonus, her outfit gave him an eyeful of every new curve and dimple on her plush body.
“None of your business,” she snapped. But her fingers gripped the bottom of her shorts and gave them a tiny tug like she was trying to pull them lower on her thighs, which made him realize he was acting like a creep. That reminder snapped him back into the headspace he’d need for this encounter.
“Oh, I think it is my business.” He turned and settled into the expensive leather chair behind his desk. The sensation was foreign after years of setting up his workspace at a folding table and chair in a tent.
“Not the…” She gave a strangled shriek and stomped toward him, slamming her bag down on the floor at her feet and glaring at him. “You don’t get to talk about my clothes.”
“Apologies, duchess.” He rested one elbow on the arm of his chair and gestured at her. “If anyone knows how to dress to visit Digham HQ, it would be a member of the Fox family. I never should’ve questioned you.”
She rolled her eyes, and the explosion of warmth in his chest at seeing the familiar expression on her gorgeous face was wholly unwelcome. Warm feelings didn’t have a place when it came to her, not if he wanted to stay indifferent. And indifference was what he needed right now.
“I’m here to ask for an extension on the grant application. A tiny one.”
“An extension?”
“Tiny.” She held up her thumb and index finger, squinting at him through the gap. “A few of the files I uploaded last month were corrupted. And I didn’t get the notification until just before noon today. I got them all reuploaded except for the final document.”
“Unfortunate,” he said mildly, giving her nothing to work with. It felt good watching her squirm. Just a bit of payback for making him feel so small all those years ago as he read what she’d written about him when she thought he’d never see it.
“Please, Leo. I submitted my personal statement sixty seconds too late.” Her bravado crumpled, and she blinked her big blue eyes at him. Her lower lip even quivered slightly. As performances went, it was tremendous.
But he shook his head. “No. Rules are rules.” His lip curled as he remembered his last interaction with her father. “And I’m sure we’ve already got plenty of applications that bring something of value to the table. Applications that actuallyneedthe grant money.”
He shrugged dismissively, and she got his meaning loud and clear. “God, just say it.”
He tilted his head to study her. “Okay. If you want to get all charitable, why not just ask mumsie and pop-pop to write you a check and be done with it?”
His verbal jab brought her spark back. Good. A defeated Faith was no fun to spar with.
“First, never call my parents that again.” She jabbed a finger in his direction, voice hard as steel. “Second, not that it’s your business, but I haven’t taken a cent from them since the day we graduated from high school.”
“Poor Dutch.” He let his skepticism bleed through. “No more annual Audi upgrades?”
“Nope,” she snapped. “The car I drive still has our sex stains on the upholstery.”
