Page 41 of Hard Pass

I glance back over my shoulder just in time to see him lift the manila folder from the table—the one filled with his data, his reports, information that could do real damage in the wrong hands.

The folder I almost walked out without—left sitting there like I didn’t plan on building my entire case around it.

Shit.

I shift my expression to nonchalant as I step back in the room and reach for it.

“Thanks,” I say yet again.

He doesn’t let go of it right away, holding it there between us for a beat too long, almost as if it’s a bargaining chip.

“Not sure I want you on my case,” he says lightly but there’s an edge that cuts beneath it. “Not if this is an example of your attention to detail.”

The comment lands exactly where he wants it to.

Because this isn’t about the folder—not really. It’s about the crack I just showed. About the moment I lost focus. About the fact he saw it.

I tighten my grip on the folder and pull it from his hand.

“It took you three days to remember who I was,” I fire back before I can stop myself. The words are laden with snark and hurt. “And you’re questioning my attention to detail?”

The second the words leave my mouth, I want them back. Damn it.

His brows lift slightly but it’s enough to tell me I just confirmed everything for him. I wondered. I wanted him to remember. And that I’m mad he didn’t.

Maybe even worse, maybe I do harbor some kind of resentment toward him over that night. Unfounded, but true.

I just handed him more of myself than I ever intended to.

“Three days?” he repeats, quieter like he’s turning the comment over in his head. “That’s what you think?”

I don’t answer because anything I say now will only make it worse. Besides, I’ve already said too much.

I step back, putting space between us again, forcing control back into my posture.

“Like I said,” I say, managing to control my voice again. “If you want someone else on the case, you’re well within your rights to request it.”

“Jury’s still out on that one,” he says as our eyes meet and hold too long.

He’s going to play this to his advantage, isn’t he?

He’s going to wait until I make a determination and if it’s against him, he’ll say I was out to get him due to our past.

Is that the plan or is he messing with your head? Rattling you?

Get out of here, Dublin.

I nod once more, more to myself than to him, and this time when I turn for the door, I don’t stop. I walk away without looking back, my grip tightening on the folder as the door clicks shut behind me.

The second I’m past the floor-to-ceiling glass walls, I exhale. I’m furious at him. At the situation. But mostly at myself—for the slip, for the reaction, for letting him see if only for half a second that he got under my skin.

Did that just hand him all the cards?

Or worse? Did I just show him exactly how to play me?

The thought sits heavy in my chest as I force my feet to keep going.

Because if I did, this just got a hell of a lot more complicated.