Chapter 13
Early October
Kyla climbed the stairstwo at a time, the old pine shifting under each step, portfolio braced tight against her ribs.The air upstairs carried grain dust and the lingering trace of stale coffee, sharp and familiar.
Her boots struck hard on the final steps.The boardroom door stood half-open, letting in a slice of wind and the dry sweetness of October fields.
Inside, two tables bore stacks of documents and mismatched chairs marked the worn floor.A copy machine churned behind a thin partition, pushing out invoices in steady rhythm.
Titus stood at the far end of the table, shoulders squared beneath a navy shirt.The tie sat tight at his throat, the knot drawn higher than comfort.His jaw showed the rough edge of missed shaves.His attention stayed fixed on the legal pages in front of him.
She took him in without thinking.The set of his stance.The tension in his neck.The way his shoulders carried strain he refused to shift.He looked the same way he had riding through floodwater, reins locked in his grip.
She stopped that line of thought before it settled.This room was not a stage.He was not a performance.Neither was she.
Kyla stepped inside and closed the door with care.She crossed the room, stepping around an abandoned mug, and placed her portfolio on the table.The contract came out in one motion, edges crisp, ink stark under the morning light.The stack carried a presence that had nothing to do with size.
She set one pen down and angled it toward him.Then she took the chair beside him, not across, not touching.She stayed close enough to matter.
He stayed standing until the last possible moment.His breath stayed shallow.His hand hovered above the page.
Kyla reached across the empty stretch of wood and closed her fingers around his wrist.His skin ran hot under her palm, pulse uneven beneath her thumb.She pressed lightly, not urging, not pulling, only making sure he felt her there.
His grip tightened around the pen.He glanced toward her, tension rising along his collar.She did not move her hand.
The silence stretched.The clock on the wall marked each second.A car idled somewhere below.Voices drifted up from the street, softened by glass.
She stayed steady.His forearm carried a small tremor.If she let go, he would either pull back or push through alone.Neither would hold.
She leaned in just enough for him to catch the scent of vanilla from her skin.His jaw tightened, then eased.The contract lay between them, the blank lines waiting.Kyla looked at the page, then at him.No challenge showed in her expression.She offered only a quiet insistence that he not carry it alone.
Her thumb pressed once more against his wrist.
Stay.
Alex McCray took the head of the table, clipboard angled toward him, pen tapping once against a page marked with numbers and soil-stained edges.Kyla kept her hand in place on Titus’s wrist as Alex began, his voice even and direct.
