Page 48 of The Silent Hour

Lila. I felt like I was seeing more of her lately than I had in the entire time she'd worked here. She stood just outside the lift with a takeout bag in one hand, hair down and out of her usual professional wear so she’d gone home at some point and had returned, now preparing to get on as I stepped off.

"Mr. Marcelli." Her greeting was smooth and warm, not the least bit surprised.

I checked my watch and then looked at her again. “You plan on being here much longer?”

She smiled and held the door. “Not initially, but I forgot the files I needed to go over and figured I’d settle in here with dinner. I thought you'd be gone by now. You're usually out no later than eight lately."

My brow rose slightly. "And how do you know that?"

Her smile didn't falter. "Your car's always gone when I leave."

"That doesn't explain how you know what time."

She tilted her head slightly. The movement sent a section of dark hair sliding over her shoulder.

"Observation is my specialty. It's how I anticipate needs before they become problems."

I stepped fully out of the elevator, trading places with her. Sesame and ginger drifted from the bag between us.

"If you're that observant, you should already know who you crossed today."

Something shifted behind her eyes. "If you're referring to earlier, that wasn't my intention."

"Your intentions were the right ones for anyone else but my the women in my life, especially my wife."

That erased some of the polish from her expression. Good. She excelled at remaining calm and collected.

"Julia has unrestricted access to me, this floor, and this firm. You don't question her. You don't challenge her, and you don't put her in a position where she has to remind you who she is."

Her chin lifted slightly. "I understand."

"Do you?"

"Perfectly,” she replied smoothly.

I studied her for a second longer than I should have. Most people wilted when I spoke to them like this, shoulders dropping, eyes sliding away, the whole body quietly folding inward. Lila did the opposite. Something in her posture gathered itself, the way a blade catches light when you turn it.

I knew that look.

I'd seen it across negotiating tables and witness stands for years—the particular stillness of someone who had decided that pressure was a language they spoke fluently. Push the right person hard enough and they recoiled. Lila never gave. She simply waited, composed, and said exactly what she needed to.

"I'll apologize to your wife," she said.

"No."

Her chin dropped a fraction—barely, but enough. "No?"

"You're not approaching Julia unless she approaches you first."

Something moved behind her eyes. She filed it away before it reached her expression. "Understood."

"And if you're struggling with a case, come to me. That's what I'm here for. Or Serena, Knox, Rafa. You're not short on resources." I let a beat pass. "You don't need to manufacture reasons to be in my office."

Her expression soured, genuinely offended. "I've never manufactured a reason to speak with you, Mr. Marcelli.”

"Good. Then we understand each other."

"We do." Her reflection remained where I'd left her as the doors slid shut.