He waited for the retreat. The small laugh that turned audacity into flirtation. The pivot most people made when they realized whose space they'd touched.
It didn't come.
She simply sat there. As if she'd stated a fact and was waiting for him to process it.
Taco coupons,he thought.Naturally. And now my office.
He could correct her.
Lean forward. Shift his tone. Remind her whose men sat twenty feet away. Whose word was final in every negotiation that happened in this room.
Interest.Simple. Clean.
His fingers drummed once against the table.
He'd been winning the poker hand. That should have mattered more than it did. Three hours of cards and cigars and men who knew better than to bluff him, and he'd been counting the minutes until he could leave his own table.
He did not correct her.
Because she had not overstepped.
She'd set a boundary. Claimed jurisdiction. And she'd done it the same way she'd asked for taco-based psychological warfare twenty minutes ago.
Scare him. Don't hurt him.
She had drawn the perimeter herself.
And she'd just done it again.
Not taking his authority. Claiming her own. And waiting, unbothered, to see if he would honor it.
He did not yield to anyone who did not understand consequence.
"In my office?"
A test.
Not flirtation. Verification.
Do you know what you're touching?
"Especially in your office." Her eyes steady on his. "That's what makes it fun."
Fun.
She knew. She understood the weight of claiming authority in a room that answered to him. With his men listening.
And she was enjoying it.
Not reckless.
Aware.
Playing with full knowledge of the stakes, and finding the audacity of it entertaining.
Petty revenge delivered with taco coupons.
Velvet ropes that weren't quite enough.
