The door clicks shut behind me, sealing the cold air inside his office. Damian is seated at his desk, though he looks different than he did this morning. His jacket has been tossed aside. His sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, revealing strong lines of muscle and veins. He looks both lethal and exhausted, like a man who works until the world bends but never until it breaks him.
He studies me with an unreadable expression. His presence fills the room with a pressure that settles on my chest, thick and cold.
“Sit,” he says.
I walk to the chair across from his desk. The leather creaks softly when I lower myself into it. My fingers curl together in my lap so he does not see how tense they are.
He opens a folder. My work stares back at me. Pages and pages of everything I finished today,
