Page 89

I sit back. This isn't proof he was unimportant. It is proof he wasn't first. I automatically reach for the coffee beside me, take a sip, and grimace because it has gone cold.

I look toward the other side of the table. Empty. The irritation that moves through me is absurdly disproportionate. At Adrianos's penthouse, my coffee never gets cold anymore. And I don't even know when that started.

Sometimes he replaces it himself. Sometimes someone on his staff does. Once, I accused him of monitoring my caffeine consumption, and he informed me that I'd become unpleasant enough without dehydration contributing to the problem.

I look back at the empty chair. There is no Adrianos asking why a transaction matters. No Adrianos identifying the family behind an obscure company because apparently the man carries decades of criminal corporate structures in his head.

No quiet ‘show me’ when I find something.

This is what I wanted. The silence of my apartment. My decisions. So why does working alone suddenly feel wrong?

I turn back to the computer before my brain can answer. Twenty minutes later, I catch myself preparing to say, "Look at this."

But there's no one else here. I close my eyes.

"This is pathetic."

The security officer outside my apartment does not answer.

Good man.

Three hours later, somebody knocks. I know who it is before I reach the door, and that annoys me too. But I check anyway. Adrianos stands alone in the hallway. His security remains somewhere out of sight, because apparently he's capable of learning.

I open the door but don't invite him in. He stares at me, and I return the favor.

"You found me," I say.

"I knew where you were."

"That sounded disturbingly sinister."

"I meant the security told me."

"Not better."

His gaze moves over my face. "Can I come in?"

The question catches me off guard. Adrianos doesn't ask permission.

I step aside.

He enters and closes the door behind him. No kiss. No attempt to touch me. He removes his jacket and places it over the back of a chair as naturally as if he's done it a hundred times.

I hate how familiar the movement feels. His attention lands on my coffee.

"You've been drinking that?"

"Don't."

His gaze returns to me. "Don't what?"

"Come in here and behave as if nothing happened."

His expression hardens slightly. "I'm not."

"Good."

Silence settles between us. He doesn't rush to fill it. Neither do I.