“No security cameras.” It’s not a question.
“The building has them in the halls.” I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “Besides, who’d want to steal outdated editing equipment?”
He moves further into the room, each step deliberate. “Someone who’s more interested in what’s being edited than the equipment itself.”
My heart rate picks up, but I keep my voice steady. “Paranoid much?”
“Realistic.” He pauses at my workstation, studying the three monitors arranged in a semicircle. “Ground floor location. Single entry point. Exposed windows.” His jaw tightens. “You might as well paint a target on your back.”
“I like natural light.”
“You like being reckless.” He turns, fixing me with that penetrating stare that used to make my knees weak. Still does, if I’m honest with myself. “Or perhaps that’s the point?”
I cross my arms, leaning against the desk. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re smart enough to know better than this setup.” He gestures to the space. “Which means either you’re trying to appear vulnerable…” His eyes narrow. “Or you’re baiting someone.”
The accusation hangs in the air between us. I force a laugh, though it sounds hollow even to my ears. “Not everyone lives in a fortress, Remy. Some of us just work for a living.”
“Work that’s gotten your apartment trashed and put you under my protection.” He steps closer, close enough that I catch the faint scent of his cologne. “So forgive me if I question your choice of workspace.”
My fingers curl against the edge of the desk. “Are we done with the security audit? Because I actually have work to do.”
“By all means.” He doesn’t move back. “Show me what’s so important it’s worth risking your life for.”
The tension crackles between us, thick enough to choke on.
I move toward my desk with practiced ease, each step measured despite my thundering pulse. The familiar mess ofpapers, sticky notes, and equipment provides cover for what I’m really after—the innocuous floral notepad where I’d hidden Mutini’s USB drive.
Remy blocks my path, his broad shoulders and crisp suit filling the narrow space between desks. I pause, calculating. To reach the notepad, I’ll need to brush past him.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, sliding sideways. His cologne hits me—sandalwood and warm skin. The same scent that used to linger on my skin eight years ago when I left that hotel room. I push the memory away, focusing on keeping my movements fluid as I gather random items from my desk.
“What exactly are you looking for?” His voice carries that dangerous edge I remember too well.
“Just some notes.” I rifle through papers, my fingers finding the notepad. “Not all of us keep everything digitally organized.”
He shifts closer, heat radiating from his body. “Interesting filing system.”
My hands want to shake as I slip the notepad into my bag, but I force them steady. Inside of the notebook, Roberto had probably left a USB key. “Some of us work in organized chaos.”
“Chaos.” He catches my wrist as I reach for another stack of papers. His touch sends electricity through my skin. “That’s one word for it.”
I meet his gaze, fighting to keep my expression neutral. “Problem?”
His thumb brushes my pulse point. “You’re being careful, Eve. Too careful.”
“Paranoid much?” I try to pull away, but his grip tightens fractionally.
“You forget.” His eyes bore into mine. “I know what people look like when they’re hiding something.”
My heart skips. He’s too close, reading too much. I need distance, but moving would only confirm his suspicions.
“You’re very invested in my filing system.” I keep my tone light, but my skin burns where his fingers circle my wrist. “Most people would take the hint and back off.”
“Most people aren’t responsible for keeping you alive. And most people can’t tell when you’re lying.”
I arch an eyebrow, ignoring how his touch sends sparks through my body. “Lying? About paperwork?”
