Gentle. Unhurried.
It was a kiss that makes you question everything you thought you understood about men.
The Lemaire file sprawls across my desk, pages littered with contradictions and careful lies, each one a testament to how far some men will go to take what was never theirs to begin with.
A knock interrupts my thoughts.
“Ms. Devereux?” Sarah’s voice filters in as she opens the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, but Jon David is here to see you.”
His name scrapes across my nerves—nails on a chalkboard.
No.
Not now.
Not him.
“Well, this can’t be good.”
Sarah doesn’t miss a beat. “It never is with him.”
I shake my head. “Has he forgotten how to use a phone?”
She laughs. “He prefers the flair of a surprise visit. It keeps the drama alive.”
Of course he does.
“Send him in, but give me a minute to move this evidence out of view. I don’t want that slippery bastard looking at any of it.”
Because he would try.
He absolutely fucking would.
Jon David is familiar with my habits. He knows I’d have everything spread across my desk at this point—files open, notes layered, every angle of this case under a microscope. He’s counting on it, banking on my efficiency being his advantage.
And that pisses me off.
It grates—disrupting my flow and moving things out of his line of sight to keep him from scavenging for information he’s not entitled to know.
But I do it because I know him. And because this case matters more than my irritation.
A moment later, he steps inside, impeccably dressed with an easy smile, that familiar flicker of calculation in his eyes. He thinks he’s here to shake something loose.
I lean back in my chair, unmoved. “You’re not here for pleasantries, so let’s not pretend. What do you want?”
He closes the door with a soft click.
He strolls toward my desk, letting his gaze sweep over the files.
Fucker.
“Busy morning?” he asks.
“Productive.”
I don’t offer him a seat, but he takes one anyway, settling in as if he still belongs here.
“A lot of noise floating around this morning?”
