Page 32 of Reverence

“Stop what?”

I rolled my chair closer to him and snatched the pen straight from his hand.

“Stop being a disturbance.” I scoffed. “How am I supposed to concentrate when you’re being so damn irritating?”

I shoved the pen into my pocket before rolling my chair back to its original position.

The rest of our coworkers remained engrossed in their own tasks, blissfully unaware of the argument unfolding beside them.

Ares stared at me, his eyes narrowing as he scratched his jaw. He looked like he was one wrong word away from snapping.

“I’ll take it out of your pocket,” he warned.

“If you’d like to keep all ten fingers attached to your hand, I suggest you don’t.”

His jaw clenched as he balled his hands into fists.

“If you weren’t aware, I’m proofreading important documentation, and the physical stimulation helps me remain focused.”

“Then sit somewhere else.” I gestured vaguely around the room. “Preferably in a corner where nobody can hear or see you.”

One by one, our coworkers began filing out of the room until, eventually, the office fell silent.

When I glanced at my wristwatch, I realised it was lunchtime.

Ares remained seated, watching me in silence until we were the only two people left.

Then, abruptly, he stood.

“You’re really pissing me off, Amala.” I looked up at him. “I don’t take orders from you, so stop trying to control everything.”

I rose from my chair, refusing to be intimidated by his towering presence.

“Control?” I scoffed. “I’m telling you to move. Why are you even sitting this close to me in the first place? You do things purely to piss me off.”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you.” His voice sharpened. “The sooner you accept that, the better. And another thing, I can sit wherever the hell I want.”

“You’re the reason we’re even here in the first place. If you weren’t—”

I bit my tongue, cutting myself off before the words could fully escape. Ares took a step closer.

“If I weren’t what?” I said nothing, pursing my lips but his eyes remained fixed on mine.

“If I weren’t what, Rivera?”

“Nothing.”

I turned away, making quick work of locking my computer.

“If you’ll excuse me.” I barely made it a step before his hand closed around my bicep, stopping me in my tracks and I froze.

Slowly looking down at his hand before meeting his gaze. Neither of us spoke.

His grip tightened ever so slightly, the pressure burning through the long-sleeved compression shirt covering my arm.

“Why don’t you finish that sentence?” he urged, his voice deceptively calm as I stared at him.

“If. I. Weren’t. What?”