We stood there, table between us, tension crackling in the space.
He extended his hand. "Thank you for coming back, Julia."
I took it. His grip was warm, firm. Lasted a fraction too long.
"Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Vanetti."
"Quentin." His thumb brushed across my knuckles—accidentally or deliberately, I couldn't tell. "If we're using first names."
"Quentin." The name felt intimate. Dangerous.
He released my hand. I immediately missed the contact.
You're supposed to kill this man.
The thought hit like cold water.
I stood here, pulse racing, skin tingling from a handshake, and imagined what it would feel like if he kissed me.
And I was supposed to kill him.
"I should go." I took a step back.
"Wait." He moved around the table. Closer. "I want you to meet my head of security. He'll be conducting the final vetting."
"Now?"
He raised a brow. "If you have time."
“Of course.”
He pressed the intercom. "Send in Stone."
The door opened immediately.
The man who entered was massive. Six-four, maybe taller. Built like he bench-pressed small cars. Military bearing. Eyes that missed nothing.
And those eyes went immediately from me to Quentin and back again.
Assessing. Calculating.
He knew. Somehow, he knew there was something between us.
"Stone, this is Julia Russell. Julia, Nathan Stone. Head of security."
Stone extended a hand that could probably crush mine. "Miss Russell."
"Mr. Stone." I shook firmly, refusing to be intimidated.
He studied me with uncomfortable intensity. Not sexual—analytical. Like I was a puzzle he was determined to solve.
"Quentin speaks highly of your qualifications," Stone said. His voice was deep, neutral.
"I appreciate that."
"I'll need to ask you some questions. For the background check."
"Of course."
