She nodded.
Great.
The thought of being alone with him stirred up mixed emotions in me. Part of me was beginning to feel comfortable inhis presence, even safe. Another part of me feared what could happen if we stayed together in a room for too long.
I’d fallen twice for him already. What was preventing me from falling a third time?
I had no idea why he wanted to see me out of the blue. And that piqued my curiosity.
“Where is he?”
“In his study.”
Thank God the location is his study, not his bedroom,I thought to myself.
But since when had the location ever stopped anything sexual from happening?
“All right. I’ll be there in a minute.”
She nodded and left the room in silence.
I rose to my feet after she closed the door behind her, then walked over to my vanity. Against my better judgment, I combed my hair, applied lipstick, and lightly dabbed perfume on my wrists.
All of this just because you’re going to see a man you claim to hate?a pesky little voice murmured in my head.
I straightened and exhaled sharply, ignoring the question even as it lingered on the fringes of my mind. After one last look at the woman in the mirror, I headed out.
When I got to his study, I pushed the door open and walked inside. He never bothered to knock onmydoor before barging intomyroom. So I decided to tear a page from his own book, give him a taste of his own medicine.
Reclining in his chair, he lifted his eyes from the file in his hands. “And you preach to me about knocking,” he said with his usual calm, his brows arched at my audacity.
“Sucks, doesn’t it?” I walked over to his desk, my gaze unwavering. “That’s how it feels when you invade my space like you own the place.”
A crooked smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I do own the place.”
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes, halting before his table. “You asked to see me. Why?”
He stared into my eyes for a second, that smirk retained. “Sit down.” He gestured at the visitor’s chair.
I hesitated, displeased with the authority in his tone. But eventually, I sat down.
The air smelled of aged paper, whisky, and the unmistakable scent of his cologne. Behind him, the afternoon sun filtered in through the window, cutting sharply across his desk.
“Why am I here, Karik?”
“You said the cases I assigned to you aren’t real.”
“Obviously.”
In silence, he gestured at a set of files on one side of the table.
“What’re those?”
“Feel free to check them out.”
I hesitated for a second before reaching for the top file. My eyes scanned the pages of the document, and I soon realized this file was cleaner, more direct. Names. Routes with specific coordinates. Dates that were recent enough to still feel present.
I grabbed the next file. Same thing.
