She looked entirely unbothered.
As if she'd just informed him the meeting had relocated and was waiting for him to follow.
Seven other men.
His hand shifted once against the table.
Seven men who moved without consulting him.
Unappealing.
Worse: she was not asking permission to continue that structure.
She was informing him it existed.
As if he were being onboarded into a framework that predated his arrival and would proceed regardless of his participation.
He should walk away.
Maintain singular claim. Preserve clean lines. Operate within structures he understood.
Simpler.
She waited. Not anxious. Not defensive. Patient.
Like his answer interested her but would not determine her.
His gaze dropped briefly to her hands, resting calm in her lap. No fidgeting. No performance of certainty to cover uncertainty.
She'd walked into his den asking for taco coupons.
Taco coupons.
She had drawn the line herself.
And if she managed her own anger with that much precision—set parameters, honored limits, knew where things stopped—then she could manage seven men.
She already was.
Coordinated. Executed without discussion.
That was designed structure that rode in chaos.
Genre,she'd said.
As if there were rules. An organizational framework he didn't know but she did.
He didn't like not knowing.
But she knew.
And she'd already shown him—twice now—that she governed what she created.
His chest tightened.
Irritation.
Because he wanted her.
