She scribbles a few more notes, then glances up, voice softer. “You said privacy’s important. Are there… circumstances about your work that I should know? Security concerns? Are you in business with anyone who might, say, make the front page of thePost?”
I smirk, leaning back. “There are people who want what I have. That’s all you need to know.”
She arches a brow, intrigued. “Anyone ever threatened you over business?”
My lips curve, but it isn’t quite a smile. “Let’s just say I’m good at making problems disappear.”
She’s clearly not satisfied, but she lets it slide, tapping her stylus thoughtfully. “Would your… prospective wife need a background check?”
“Absolutely,” I say. “And she’d need to understand that some doors in my life stay closed. Not everything is open for discussion.”
Her pen hovers above the tablet. “There are a lot of women here with family in law, or politics, or finance. Would that be an issue for you?”
My smile turns cold. “I have my own connections. As long as they respect my privacy, I have no problem with their circles.”
She studies me for a long moment, something sharp and curious in her eyes. “You’re… very private, aren’t you?”
I let the silence stretch. “You have no idea.”
I can see a shiver run down her spine, but she manages a smile. “Alright, Mr. Mystery. That’s all I have for now.” She closes the list, then glances at me, her expression lingering somewhere between playful and thoughtful.
If she’s suspicious, she hides it well. But I can tell—she knows I’m hiding something.
And she’s getting closer to wanting to know exactly what.
She leaves my office with the tablet tucked under her arm, her perfume lingering like a memory I can’t shake. I try to turn back to work, force myself to focus on anything but her voice, her questions, and the stubborn way she refuses to be intimidated.
But I’m restless. She’s everywhere. In the silence after she leaves, I open my desk drawer, drawn by a compulsion I keep telling myself I’ll break.
There it is. My private stash.
The encrypted drive with her audio files, the ones that started all of this. I run my thumb over the cool metal, heart pounding, imagining the heat of her voice whispering in my ear.
It’s a forbidden drug, one I can’t allow myself to taste—not now, not when she’s just down the hall. I shove the drive deeper into the drawer, slam it shut, and press my hands to my temples, trying to clear my head.
Enough.
I pack up my things early, desperate for air, for space, for anything that will let me shake the hold she has on me. Thecorridors are mostly empty as I stride toward the elevators, my reflection flickering in the glossy walls.
The doors slide open and I step in—only to find her already there, eyes glued to her phone, earphones tangled in her hair.
She looks up, startled. “Oh—hi.”
I nod, forcing calm, though the sight of her in this close space makes my pulse leap. The elevator doors close with a soft sigh, sealing us in together. The silence hums with everything unsaid.
For a moment, I let myself look at her. The slope of her jaw, the soft curve of her lips, the way her body shifts as the elevator hums downward.
She’s so damn close.
And for one wild second, I want nothing more than to hit the stop button and see just how far this forbidden thing between us can go.
But the elevator keeps humming along, numbers ticking downward. I steal a glance at her, trying to hide the want written all over my face. She bites her lip, eyes flicking to mine, her breath just a little too quick.
Then, as if the universe has been listening to every filthy thought in my head, the elevator jolts to a sudden stop.
14
ZATANNA
