I was still standing there after Irene left, the faint echo of the door clicking shut behind her like a small exclamation mark at the end of a sentence I didn’t get to finish.
My palms itched to be doing something...anything, other than hanging at my sides while Alexander stared at me.
He rose from his chair with that unhurried grace of his, the kind that made you second-guess whether he was calm or just winding up for something you’d regret.
"I need to have a chat with you," he said.
I found my eyes tracking the way he moved—measured steps, deliberate. And then he came around the desk, each step shrinking the space between us until I could hear the soft scuff of his boots on the floor.
I told myself not to notice what he was wearing. That was a mistake.
Dark blue jeans, perfectly
