Nick trailed him, but paused on the threshold. “Emma.” His tone was quiet, meant only for her, but before he continued, Zach cut in.
“Emma.”
She froze. It was the first time he’d used her name, spoken in a rough-edged voice with an undertone of something she couldn’t quite identify. Summons? Request? Something else?
She stepped toward the doorway, keenly aware of Morgan’s wide-eyed regard.
Zach stood a few feet out, hands loose at his sides, steely eyes on hers. Nick stopped between them, looking mildly entertained.
“If Navarro’s records don’t clear,” Zach said, “I need to know immediately. Not through channels. Not through reports.” He paused long enough for the words to land. “Directly.”
It wasn’t a question.
Emma tilted her head as she considered the set of his shoulders, the absolute lack of apology in his tone. The way he stood, certain she’d agree because—in his world—it was the only logical response.
Dammit. He was probably right.
“Either way,” she agreed, her own tone cool but professional, “I’ll let you know.” On her own terms, of course.
His eyes lingered on hers for a second longer, before his expression shifted—not quite approval, but close enough. He gave a brief nod, turned and strode away, footsteps silent.
Nick lingered a moment, eyebrows lifted in a silent question Emma chose not to answer. Then he, too, disappeared down the hallway.
She dropped into her chair, exhaling slowly.
Morgan waited three seconds before speaking.
“Well.”
Emma slumped back, pressing her fingers to her temples. “That man could curdle cream with a look.”
Morgan leaned forward conspiratorially, dark eyes gleaming. “Also… seriously hot.”
“Morgan.”
“I’m just saying.” Morgan grinned, unrepentant. “All that dark, silent, competent thing he has going on? Some women find that?—”
“Some women have work to do,” Emma interrupted, but there was no heat in it. Because Morgan wasn’t wrong.
Emma rubbed her temples again, staring down at the report. The disciplined handwriting. The precise red marks. The meticulous documentation of a man who didn’t miss details.
A man who didn’t assume.
A man whoknew.
It didn’t sit right. A small, aggravating voice in the back of her mind whispered Zach might be correct about Navarro. That she was being careful when she should be concerned.
Which annoyed her almost as much as the man himself.
She tapped the file once against the table, decision crystallizing.
“Pull everything on Navarro,” she told Morgan. “Biometrics, background, references, the subcontractor’s verification logs. Send it all over to Phoenix, including Zach’s report. They’re his people. Let them sort it.”
Morgan spun back to her keyboard, fingers flying.
Emma scowled toward the door Zach had disappeared through.
The weight of his presence lingered in the room. Her name—uttered in a low, rough voice—echoed in her ears.
