Aleksei hears it and immediately looks interested. “What?”
I turn the screen slightly away from him. “Nothing.”
He reaches for the phone.
I pull it back to my chest. “Absolutely not.”
That only makes him more interested.
“Show me.”
“No.”
“Zatanna.”
“No.”
He says my name in that low, warning tone and I feel it all the way down to my knees. Which is ridiculous. Entirely unfair.
Then, before I can brace myself, he leans in slightly, bringing his face close enough that I can smell his cologne, feel the heat of him, hear the quiet amusement in his breathing.
“You know,” he murmurs, “for someone arranging my marriage, you’re remarkably territorial.”
I nearly choke on my own air. “I am not territorial.”
“No?”
“No.”
He glances meaningfully at the phone still clutched to my chest. Then at the calendar. Then back at me.
My brain short-circuits.
Because yes, okay, maybe the phrasedating poolhad been a little revealing.
His smirk deepens. And for one terrible, wonderful second, sitting there at my desk while the whole office breathes around us, I forget there’s anyone else in the room.
Then Owen walks by and says, much too brightly, “Wow. Casual.”
I jerk back so hard my chair nearly rolls away from the desk.
Aleksei, of course, does not move.
He just turns his head, gives Owen a look so flat it could freeze fire, and says, “Don’t you have work?”
Owen evaporates.
I slowly turn back to Aleksei. “See?”
He lifts one shoulder. “What?”
“I told you someone would see.”
“And yet,” he says, sliding gracefully off my desk at last, “you survived.”
Barely.
He straightens his cuffs and glances once more at my screen. “Cancel the gallery walk.”
