“It means you act like a child, so people treat you like one.”
“Fuck you. You’re just my dad’s fucking spy. A glorified babysitter who couldn’t hack it in the real world.”
Each word hits like he’s aiming for vital organs, trying to draw blood. Maybe two weeks ago, I would have let it slide. Maintained professional distance. But something in me has been wearing thin, and now the last thread snaps.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and lunge across the space between us. My hand shoots out, gripping his shoulder hard enough to feel bone beneath muscle, pinning him against the cream leather seat. He makes a startled sound, eyes going wide as I lean in, bringing our faces inches apart.
“Enough.” My voice drops to a register I haven’t used since my last deployment. The kind of tone that makes smart people stop whatever they’re doing and pay attention.
Wyatt freezes beneath my grip, his pulse racing at his throat. The sudden shift in power is intoxicating. For two weeks, I’ve been the employee. The hired help. The furniture in the corner of his life. Now I’m the only thing he can see, and he’s finally, finally fucking silent.
“You want to know what I think?” I don’t wait for an answer. “I think you’re a spoiled, entitled brat who’s never had to face a single consequence in your life. I think you blame everyone else when things go wrong because you can’t stand the idea that maybe—just maybe—you’re the problem.”
His mouth opens, but I tighten my grip, and whatever he was going to say dies in his throat.
“You think I dragged you out of that club to embarrass you? I was doing my job. Keeping you from getting arrested for possession when your friends decided to do lines in the middle of a crowded VIP section. But sure, blame me because your girlfriend’s fucking your best friend. That makes perfect sense.”
Hurt and anger flicker in his eyes, but he’s listening. Maybe for the first time since I met him.
“You’re so drunk most of the time, you don’t notice what’s happening right in front of your face. You think they just hooked up for the first time last night? How fucking naive can you be? The way they looked at each other, how comfortable Zeke was in that bed—they’ve been doing this for a while, Wyatt. And you didn’t see it because you don’t see anything that doesn’t revolve around you.”
He turns his head away, jaw tight, throat working as he swallows. His eyelashes are clumped together, wet at the edges.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” I growl, fingers digging deeper into the muscle of his shoulder.
Wyatt’s breath comes in short, shallow gasps. For a second, I think he might burst into tears. Then slowly, reluctantly, he turns back to face me. His lips are parted, his eyes are glassy, and there’s something in his expression I haven’t seen before. Not just anger or hurt or shock, but something…else. Something that makes my own breath catch for reasons I don’t want to examine.
We stay like that, frozen in this strange, charged moment, my hand still gripping his shoulder, our faces close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath. The air between us feelsdifferent, heavy with something that wasn’t there before. His eyes drop to my mouth, then back up, and something dangerous runs down my spine.
The car slows, then stops. I blink, suddenly aware of how close I am, how inappropriate this position would look to anyone outside our bubble. Neither of us moves for several heavy seconds, the silence punctuated only by our breathing.
Then Wyatt’s hand comes up, wrapping around my wrist. Not pushing me away, just…holding. His fingers are warm against my skin, the touch unexpectedly gentle. Our eyes lock, and I see something shift in his, like clouds parting to reveal unfamiliar terrain beneath.
The moment shatters when Jeff clears his throat over the intercom.
“We’ve arrived, Mr. Kingsley.”
Wyatt releases my wrist like it’s burned him. In one fluid motion, he extricates himself from my grip, reaches for the door handle, and slides out of the car. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t say a word, just walks toward the building entrance with his shoulders squared and his head high.
I remain in the backseat, my hand still warm from where he touched it, my mind racing to catch up with what just happened. What I just did. Crossed every professional line. Physically intimidated my employer’s son. Said things I can’t take back.
Fuck.
I slowly get out of the car, shutting the door with a soft click. Through the window, I catch Jeff watching me from the driver’s seat, his expression filled with something like pity. He saw Wyattbolt from the car like it was on fire, probably feels sorry for me having to deal with that.
I gesture in the direction Wyatt went. “I’ll… walk Mr. Kingsley up. You can head home for the day.”
Jeff nods, giving me a sympathetic look that makes me wince. I don’t even know why I said anything. It’s not like I had to.
But here I am, running my mouth for no reason, losing my grip.
I’ve survived firefights, deserts, and enough bloodshed to fill an ocean. But this job might be what finally takes me down. Not with a bang, but with the quiet admission that I’ve lost control of the one thing I always prided myself on: discipline.
As I walk toward the building, I can already hear Daniela’s voice in my head.
“What did you do, Gray?”
What did I do indeed.
