“Because you’re the leader,” Asher says, as if that explains anything.
He might as well have said because gravity pulls down or because bullets kill. I set the papers down beside me and lean back on my hands, stretching my legs out so the tips of my boots almost brush his thigh. He doesn’t move away.
“I thought being leader meant I got my own room and people had to shut up when I walked into breakfast,” I say. “No one mentioned homework.”
The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to encourage me. “This isn’t homework. This is the livelihood of the Raiders.”
“Feels suspiciously like math.”
“Math is power,” he says. “You sign the wrong line, people die. You sign the right ones, we eat.”
I make a face. “You’re terrible at pep talks.”
“I’m not giving a pep talk.” His gaze sweeps over me, cool and assessing. “I’m telling you what sitting on that desk means.”
I wiggle my toes, nudging his leg. “That I have a great view?”
His hand snaps out, fingers closing around my ankle before I can pull back. The grip is firm, not painful, a clearI let you poke at me because I let you, not because you can.
“Valentina,” he warns.
I tilt my head, letting a slow smile curl at my mouth. “You’re the one who put me up here. Don’t get mad when I act like I own it.”
“You don’t own it,” he says.
“Don’t I?” I lean back further, bracing my palms behind me so my spine arches, bringing me closer to his height. “You just told me I’m the leader. Leaders sit on desks. They don’t stand there taking orders.”
His eyes drop to my mouth before he drags them back up. “You’re not taking orders.”
“No?” I ask. “What is this, then? You standing there telling me where to send people, what to sign, who to trust? Sounds a lot like control.”
His grip on my ankle tightens for a beat, then releases. He steps in, closing the space between us, until his thighs brush the front of the desk and my knees frame his hips.
“Someone has to know how all this works,” he says. “You want to be in charge, you have to understand what you’re in charge of.”
“So teach me,” I say. “But don’t confuse that with you being the one in control.”
He studies me, head tilting just a fraction. “Is that what you think this is? A fight over control?”
I shrug, letting my boot slide slowly up the side seam of his jeans before dropping it again. “Isn’t everything with you?”
The air between us thickens. His hands plant on the desk on either side of my hips, boxing me in without laying a finger on me.
“You’re on Xavier’s desk,” he says quietly. “In Xavier’s office. Wearing Xavier’s crown.”
I swallow. “I noticed.”
“Every man in this building is waiting to see if you drop it,” he continues. “If it slides off your head, if you crack under the weight. And you are sitting here trying to bait me into proving whetherIcan handle you having power.”
Heat rushes to my face—half embarrassment, half rage. “You don’t think I can?”
“I think you’re terrified you can,” he says. “And you’re hoping I’ll give you an excuse not to.”
That stings.
I push myself upright, my chest almost flush with his. “If I didn’t want it, I would’ve told you to give it to Jackie or Zay last night.”
“No,” he says. “You would’ve tried. And I would’ve ignored you.”
