“This is a bad idea.”
“Now, that one I believe.” His grip tightens slightly. “But you’re still not saying stop.”
For a second, I think?—
He lets go.
Just like that.
The absence of contact is abrupt enough to register.
He steps away, already turning, already back at his desk. Papers shift under his hands. Routine. Controlled. Like the last thirty seconds didn’t happen.
“Go home.”
I don’t move right away.
My skin still remembers where his hand was.
“Bea.”
He doesn’t look up. “Nine AM. Don’t be late. We’ll discuss your second reprimand later. I’m still deciding.”
“That’s it?”
“Unless you want to continue this conversation. Do you?”
I turn toward the door. My hand is on the handle when I stop.
“The paperwork. From this morning. I didn’t finish it.”
“I’m aware.”
“So, what happens to it?”
“It still needs to be done. Obviously.” I can hear the grin in his voice. “Won’t be much of a chase without some effort. Don’t you agree?”
Heat floods my face.
Chase.
He’s assuming I’m—that this is—that I’m playing along with whatever game he thinks we’re in.
I don’t turn around. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the flush I can feel burning across my cheeks.
I leave without another word.
In the elevator, I touch my chin. The skin feels different somehow. Branded.
What the hell was that?
6
RAFFAELE
Things have been careful since that day in my office. Professional. Measured.
She brings coffee at nine, and I nod without looking up. She files briefs, and I watch when she’s not looking. Neither of us mentions what happened. The chin. The almostsomething.
