ELORA

I sat rigidly in the chair across from his desk, fingers pressed tightly against the smooth armrest as I forced my breathing to slow. My skin felt warm, and my jaw locked. Everything inside me screamed, but I kept my face still.

He was watching me. Again.

Rowen Grayson had a way of looking at people like he could see straight into the marrow of their bones. And I hated that he always seemed to know when something was brewing under my skin.

“You’re quiet,” he said finally, voice smooth, edged with suspicion.

I looked up. “I’m fine.”

His eyes narrowed. The air between us shifted and charged, like...